


Inside the Pocket of Your Ripped Jeans

by ellipsometry



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Non-Famous, Angst, Fluff, M/M, OT5 Friendship, all that good stuff, also niam?, an ode to miscommunication, some random tomlinshaw
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-10
Updated: 2015-03-10
Packaged: 2018-03-17 07:15:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 34,281
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3520247
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ellipsometry/pseuds/ellipsometry
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Fuck Niall, honestly.  Fuck him for telling Zayn about this – he of all people should know that despite his leather-jacket-and-cigarette façade, underneath it all Zayn is just a hopeless romantic.  And when dealing with hopeless romantics you can’t go serving mysterious, hunky, salt-water-washed strangers up on a silver platter.  You just can’t.</i>
</p><p>It's a simple concept, really: Take a photo, then leave a photo.  But, like most simple things, Zayn manages to make it much more complicated.  So by the time Zayn meets Liam for the first time, he's been carrying a picture of him around in his pocket for nearly five months.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Doesn't Even Like Cake

**Author's Note:**

> yay i'm excited to finally be posting this!!
> 
> for the ultimate reading experience, listen to [this amazing fic mix](https://8tracks.com/jaya-j/inside-the-pocket-of-your-ripped-jeans) made by the wonderful jaya!
> 
> title from ed sheeran's "photograph"; chapter titles from bad suns' "20 years"

**May**

This is Niall’s fault. Completely and utterly Niall’s fault, Zayn thinks, running his finger along the edge of the photograph in his hand. It’s all Niall’s fault and Zayn isn’t mad, per se, but he feels like he at least needs to correctly assign the blame.

“It’s killin’ me,” the root of the problem begins then, when Niall comes back to their room scratching his head, eyes glued to the water-stained photo in his hand. He shoves it under Zayn’s nose, revealing it to be of a shirtless man passed out on a couch, a large phallic shape drawn on his stomach, “It’s _killing_ me!”

Zayn appraises the picture, “That is pretty lifelike. Look, they even drew the veins, like.”

Niall slaps Zayn’s shoulder, “Not that! I think I know this guy but I can’t remember from where!” He holds the picture upside down, “Lecture, maybe?”

“If you don’t know this guy,” Zayn returns to his notebook while Niall ambles over to the couch, “then why do you have his photo?”

“Got it outside the library! There’s a little, um,” Niall makes a round movement with his arms, “a little basket. Full of photos. You take one and then you’re supposed to leave one.”

At this, Zayn perks up, “What’s it for?”

A shrug, “Art project, s’pose. It’s that time of year, innit?”

It’s the end of the school year, nearly, and Zayn’s attended plenty of end-of-term art showcases already, but he hasn’t heard anything about this photo project. He makes a mental note to go check it out. (That’s his first mistake.)

Niall tosses the photo on to the coffee table and curls up on the couch, “I’ll figure it out some day. Like in ten years, I’ll wake up in the middle of the night in a cold sweat or something. My kids will be all freaked out when I just start babbling about veiny penises and my university days.”

Niall passes out on the couch shortly after, and Zayn finishes up the first draft of his term paper before nodding off as well. The next day he finds himself in need of another source for his paper, or maybe he just wants an excuse to visit the library, but he ends up there, in front of the basket full of photos. Just as Niall described, it’s a relatively small basket sat, a bit precariously, on a three-legged stool, a sign tied to the front: “TAKE A PHOTO (if you’d like) & LEAVE A PHOTO (if you’d like.)”

(“Doesn’t necessarily have to be a picture of yourself, I guess,” Niall had said when Zayn asked him about the photo basket again over lunch, “But I left [one of me from Greg’s wedding](http://i.dailymail.co.uk/i/pix/2013/03/27/article-0-18F5489C000005DC-20_634x999.jpg), back when me hair was all the way up to here.”)

Zayn takes quick stock of the photos in the basket while he pulls out his wallet. Some pictures look like they were just printed out at the library’s printers, black and white and on the thinnest of copy paper; others look crisply printed on color photo paper; there are a few polaroid photos, some photo booth strips, a few wallet-sized photos that Zayn imagines must have lived in the owners’ pockets for months before finally finding their way here. Most of the photos are of people, but some are just landscapes, bits of scenery, one is just a picture of a mug of tea.

He feels a bit giddy, seeing the lives of other people served up in front of him in such an open, vulnerable fashion. He wonders if some people had trouble letting go of the photos, if they agonized over it, if they let them go on purpose, maybe intending to forget something. He reaches into his own wallet to slip out [a photo of himself](http://s18.postimg.org/akoim3bjd/image.jpg) and the daughter of a family friend, from two or so years back, right before he left for university.

The young girl is fuzzy and out-of-focus in the foreground of the photo; Zayn, crouched down to her level, is in crisp focus, half his face obscured by her outstretched hand, but the rest revealing an open-mouthed smile, his eyes squinted to half-moons. He had printed it out before he left for uni, because it reminded him of home and of his friends and the warmth he had left behind. He hated how homesick he got that first year.

Now he’s got Niall, he’s got friends in his program, he’s got his writing. He swipes his thumb across the surface of the photo and smiles before gingerly placing it on the top of the pile, face-up.

“You gonna take one too?”

Zayn startles and pans up to take in a long, lanky lad leaning against the dirty brick wall of the library, “Uh. Yeah, just about to, I guess.”

The other boy has some startlingly green eyes, and long, brown hair that curls gently against the nape of his neck. He smooths his fringe back with one hand, extending the other towards Zayn, “Sorry mate, I’m Harry. This,” a shrug towards the basket, “It’s my end-of-the-year project.”

“Are you an art student?” Zayn shakes his hand; Harry has a surprisingly firm handshake.  
“Photography, actually! But I guess this is more… performance art-y, photo-inspired, or. Whatever.” He pulls his hand up to bite at his fingernails.

Zayn smiles; he recognizes the feeling of not wanting to oversell your art, or your talent, of not wanting people to know how much effort you actually put into what you do, “Nah, this is really ace, man. Heard about it from my roommate and basically made up an excuse to come over here.” He likes watching Harry’s nervousness drain out of his face, and spares a glance back to his own photo on the top of the pile. Harry’s probably going to have to find a bigger basket soon.

“Thanks,” Harry mumbles, grinning, “At first I was avoiding coming back to check on it, ‘fraid that I’d come back and it’d be empty or something. Now I just kinda get curious.” Harry has the smile of someone who trusts easily, lets himself be folded into the lives of others. It kind of reminds Zayn of Niall, in a way.

“Zayn. By the way.”

“Nice to meet you!” Harry gives Zayn a quick salute before folding his arms over his chest, “Sorry, I didn’t really let us have a proper introduction, just went on rambling. ‘M probably not protecting the artistic integrity of my project by looming over you like this.”

“Nah, artistic integrity is overrated,” Zayn chuckles, finally reaching into the basket to pick out a photo. He doesn’t want to make this more of a thing than it is but… Zayn has always been of the habit to make everything more than it is. (“You don’t have to always do all that… extra stuff,” Niall had once said, back when they first became friends, “Too much extra thinking!”)

He admits there is a bit of extra thinking happening as he feels through the photographs, sharp corners biting at his fingertips. But he gets the sense that it’s _important_ , like maybe he can use the photo for a story or something. Maybe it will inspire him, or maybe he’ll meet the person in the photograph one day. Years from now, he hopes – that would be pretty poetic. And doesn’t it matter from what point in the pile he picks the image? A picture at from the bottom would mean someone who put their photo in the basket even when it was empty or near-empty. Probably someone more outgoing, willing to put themselves out there like that. Zayn likes the idea of someone like that, someone so different from him.

“Mate, I don’t wanna… disturb you or anything. But you’ve been standing still for like five minutes now.” Harry doesn’t sound patronizing, just amused. Zayn flushes and flashes Harry a sheepish look before plucking a picture from the middle of the pile. 

When he turns it over (slowly, because he’s still trying make this, like, a moment, okay?) he finds himself looking at a highly-saturated picture of two young girls holding hands. They’re on a beach, one smiling broad-faced at the camera, the other mid-laugh. From the crumpled edges of the photo, Zayn guesses it’s a bit old: they’re probably a bit grown now, maybe in their early twenties like him.

Harry peeks down at the picture, “Pretty good pic. Still crazy to me that people I don’t know are leaving their pictures.”

“It’s a good project, bro,” Zayn gives Harry a smile, flicking his finger against the photo a couple times before sliding it in his back pocket.

Harry wishes Zayn good luck with his exams, Zayn wishes Harry good luck with his project, and they part ways with a small smile and another salute from Harry. Zayn pats his back pocket absentmindedly as he searches the library for the book he needs – his curiosity isn’t exactly burning a hole in his pocket, but it’s enough. At least to give him a boost going into his term paper, and his creative writing portfolio. Besides, there’s still the mystery of Niall’s photo to solve, right?

When he leaves, he spends another minute or so eyeing the basket of photos before finally heading back to his room.

 

“Zayn… Zayn. Oi! Zayn!”

To be honest, it’s just too damn early in the morning for Zayn to be around Perrie. Her outfit is stupendously sparkly and the platinum blond of her hair looks almost white under the florescent lights. Just looking at her his giving him a headache.

“Not my fault you’re hungover,” Perrie purses her lips and raises an eyebrow at him, and Zayn realizes he’s said that last bit out loud.

A girl across the table from Zayn laughs, “He’s got a point, Pez. It’s 9AM on a Saturday morning, what’re you all dressed up for?”

“Never took my outfit off from last night,” She admits, and Zayn guffaws a bit, before the resurgence of his headache makes him regret it.

The girl gives Perrie a sympathetic, tight-lipped smile, “Well, I ‘preciate you coming out to help me. Maths is not my strength, at least not this class.”

Zayn nods dully. He thinks the girl’s name is Jade; all he knows is that it was her idea to get a little study group together for their upcoming exam. He’s not sure why he put off his math course so long. Maybe because he thought studying English meant he wouldn’t have to set eyes on another equation again in his life, but he is apparently not so lucky.

“Alright, so we can start here – where you see _f(x)_ it just means ‘function’ like ‘function of x.’” Perrie is patiently pouring over Jade’s notes while another girl – Leigh Anne? – looks on attentively. Zayn peers over at Perrie’s notebook and the numbers swim across the page. He very well might still be drunk.

Perrie is taking them through the last lecture, but Zayn’s quickly discovering that she’s too good at maths to know how to dumb it down to their level. Jade looks like her wrist is going to break from how fast she’s writing everything down. There’s only one thing Zayn has written in the top corner of his notebook: _I’m too hungover to f(x)_. He chuckles to himself and shows it to Perrie, nudging her in the arm. She just rolls her eyes.

“I’m just gonna grab a fag outside real quick,” he mumbles, fumbling in his pockets for his lighter. He eventually pulls it out, but sends the rest of the contents of his pocket tumbling out on to the floor, including his entire pack of cigarettes, his ID, two dollars in change, and the picture from earlier, with the two girls on the beach. It floats to the ground slowly, landing innocently against the heel of Perrie’s boot.

He tries to snatch it but she’s quicker, grabbing the photo and examining it up against the light like a fake bank note, “Why do you have this?”

Zayn tries again to take it but this time it’s Jade who beats him to it, swiping it away with a gasp of recognition, “That’s me! And my ex-girlfriend Danielle…” Zayn winces at the word ‘ex-girlfriend,’ and Leigh Anne actually groans out loud.

“Did you get that from the photo thing outside the library?” She asks; Zayn nods. 

“I told her to get rid of it,” Leigh Anne adds, sighing, “Letting go and whatnot.”

Jade looks like ‘letting go’ isn’t in her vocabulary, “Can I… maybe keep it? Or, well, have it back, I guess?” Zayn feels a bit deflated – the big mystery is already solved, less than two days after he got the photo, and it’s so anticlimactic that he might as well just let it go.

“Sure, it is yours, after all.” Jade beams at him, clutching the picture to her chest, and Perrie and Leigh Anne exchange an exasperated look. Zayn guesses he could always ask about the break-up, maybe glean some literary angst from that or—

“Here!” Jade interrupts his thoughts, “I’ll give you the photo that I picked up. Y’know, a fair trade, since you gave me mine back.” She slides a new picture face-down across the table, like it’s some kind of secret settlement check instead of what’s probably a picture of another drunk co-ed.

If he’s being honest, the tearful sparkle in Jade’s eye is already worth the spoiled mystery, even if he’s sure he just enabled some more post-relationship longing for her friends to deal with. Zayn nods anyway and picks the photo up. He figures he’s just going to glance at, slide it back into his pocket, finally go out and get that cigarette, come back and pretend to listen to Perrie go on about derivatives.

Except – and this is where he starts to blame Niall for telling him about this god forsaken photo project in the first place – when he looks down at the picture he feels like he’s been punched in the gut. This is what he was waiting for, that kind of breathless, giddy, fatalistic feeling in the pit of his stomach, the insistent burn in his throat.

Maybe he’s being melodramatic. In reality, [the picture is fairly normal](http://41.media.tumblr.com/c2ccf74d879cdb50ed30d9376545a471/tumblr_myqf25IS691rvuly8o1_500.png). Also on a beach, just like the one of Jade and her old girlfriend, except this one is centered on a man in the ocean, surrounded by the marbled white and teal of the waves, just a muscled chest rising out of the water. He looks about Zayn’s age, or maybe Zayn is just hoping he is, but he’s got a respectable beard and short brown hair mussed up from swimming. He’s in profile, but he’s laughing, Zayn can tell from the squint of his eyes and the open-mouthed smile, a visible row of straight, white teeth. Completely normal. Totally. Egregiously handsome, but normal.

But Zayn can stop his eyes from scanning the photo sporadically, trying to take in every detail: the dark patch of hair on the center of his chest, the sun sparkling off the water, the small birthmark on the man’s neck – is it a birthmark or just a mark on the photo? The last thing he notices are four dark, blocky tattoos on the man’s right forearm; he can barely make them out, but he locks that bit away in his mind for later.

“You okay?” Perrie’s voice finally forces Zayn to pry his eyes away from the photo, blinking at her rapidly.

“Uh, I don’t know who that is. If you’re wondering.” Jade says, before Zayn can even ask. (And he was definitely planning on asking.)

He nods, looking right past them as he hastily shoves his notebook into his backpack. Fuck Niall, honestly. Fuck him for telling Zayn about this – he of all people should know that despite his leather-jacket-and-cigarette façade, underneath it all Zayn is just a hopeless romantic. And when dealing with hopeless romantics you can’t go serving mysterious, hunky, salt-water-washed strangers up on a silver platter. You just can’t.

“Uh so. I’m just gonna. Go. Forgot I had a thing.” He quickly slips the photo in his back pocket, next to his wallet. Whether it’s from the hangover or the newfound sense of purpose, Zayn gets a massive head rush when he stands up, stumbling over his own chunky military boots on the way to the door, blinking against the sun.

“Don’t mind him,” he hears Perrie say, “Probably just off on another romantic quest or something.”

Well, she’s not wrong.

 

To be fair, it’s all Louis’ fault.

“It’s can’t _always_ be my fault,” Louis is scarfing down a hot dog at what Liam must admit is an impressive speed, and he’s still able to spare a free hand to point accusingly at Harry, “In fact it is, quite literally, Harry’s fault!”

“Heeyyyy…” Harry pouts, “I don’t see why it’s my fault either.”

Louis stuffs the last bite of his hot dog in his mouth at the exact second a librarian goes to chastise him for bringing food into the library, “Because,” he mumbles, mouth full, “The photo thing is _your_ project. Hence, _your_ fault.”

Fair enough, Liam thinks, but that might be a bit simplistic. A week and a half ago, when Harry had finally set up the photo swap project he’d been talking about for months, Liam had been all too happy to participate. He was the first to provide a photo, placing it ceremoniously at the bottom of the empty basket, Harry beaming at him like a proud mother.

They return to the basket less than a week later to find it already half-way full, much to Harry’s contentment. They take stock of the basket contents – a few coffee-stained photos of various landscapes, wallet-sized school headshots, some hastily-printed Instagram photos – and Liam notices that his picture is conspicuously missing.

“What the fuck!” Before he can point it out, Louis is scooping out the top layer of photos to grab at the green corner of his own photo, still conspicuously _present_ , “How has no one picked out my picture yet?”

“You just put it in a couple days ago,” Harry points out, taking a bite of his apple. Liam wonders when he got an apple.

Louis shakes his head, “Absolutely unacceptable. Must not be the right kind of photo.” He pulls a folder out of his backpack and opens it precisely: it’s filled with various pictures, of himself, of him and friends, of physical mementos, of football matches. He tucks [the original photo of himself](http://i.huffpost.com/gen/828081/thumbs/o-LOUIS-TOMLINSON-570.jpg?1) – one of him from last summer, during a football match – back into a pocket of the folder and shuffles through his new choices. He points two of them out, “Which one? Liam?”

Liam pouts thoughtfully, “Why do you even have all these at the ready? And what was wrong with the other one?

“It’s not _tantalizing_ enough, of course!” Louis ignores Liam’s first question and just wiggles his eyebrows. Liam is just as confused as before, “You were definitely on point with your shirtless picture selection,” Louis sighs dramatically (though, to be fair, Liam’s never heard him sigh undramatically), “I didn’t want to have to whore myself out like this.”

Careful fingers pluck out [Louis’ new picture selection](http://36.media.tumblr.com/cb80e73fcc1896d015e999fc13793c17/tumblr_msvcq5kgVl1rnntmfo1_500.png) and places it on the top of the pile, “Let’s see someone ignore that.” Liam looks down to see Louis’ new photo: he is indeed shirtless in this one, half-way through pulling on his football kit. The script of his chest piece is on full display, his hair is a bit messed and he’s looking up at the camera, slight smirk on his face.

Liam pauses for a beat and then: “You think my picture got picked up because I was shirtless in it?” He asks, suddenly embarrassed.

“Exactly,” Louis slings an arm around Liam’s shoulder, “People like these pictures because they want a fun, hot mystery –“

“Please never use the phrase ‘fun, hot mystery’ again.”

“ – just _waiting_ to be unraveled! That’s why I needed to pick a more enticing photo of myself.”

Liam pouts, “That’s not true though, Harry’s picture got picked up and it was [just a photo of his feet](https://instagram.com/p/qS0AsbDCdl/?modal=true)!”

Harry nods sagely; Louis looks scandalized, “Are you serious?”

“Actually I put two photos in, and they both got picked up already,” Harry says, continuing to nod mindlessly as he shuffles through the remaining pictures in the basket.

He finds himself stabbed with an accusing finger, “That’s cheating! What was your second picture, anyway?”

Harry rubs his arm where Louis poked him, “Not telling.” He hums.

A scoff, “Probably just another shot of your feet.”

Even Liam nods at this, “You do have a lot of pictures of your feet.”

Harry chews at the inside of his pointer finger thoughtfully, “… I have a lot of interesting socks.”

That had been all well and good, except afterwards Liam couldn’t stop thinking about the picture he had placed in the basket, and who might have it. He felt embarrassed for picking such a personal photo, though a stranger looking at it might not realize why.

(“It’ll be good to let it go,” Harry had said, rubbing gently between Liam’s shoulder blades, “Besides, you look a bit mental carrying around a shirtless picture of yourself.”)

That was true – a bit odd to be so attached to a picture of yourself on the beach, but Liam’s ex-girlfriend Sophia had taken it, at the beach trip they took for their first anniversary. The summer sun was hot and so were they, at least until they burnt out that December. It felt like so long ago, but it still burned Liam’s fingers to drop the photo in the basket, leaving it for someone else to write their own story for.

“Don’t you think it’s weird?” Liam looks pleadingly at Louis.

Louis wipes a spare bit of mustard left on his fingers onto the library chair’s cushion, “What’s weird?”

A wistful sigh, “The fact that some stranger has, like… that picture of me. You can’t tell me it’s not weird. What if they know me or something?”

Louis echoes Liam’s sigh – it’s been around thirty minutes since Liam started worry-ranting about his stress regarding who might have picked up his picture, “And what if they don’t? It’s exciting, Liam! Don’t insult the integrity of Harry’s project with your worrywart-ing.”

“It’s still your fault that this is bothering me. You put it in my head!”

They’re interrupted by the sound of Harry attempting to carry a wobbly stack of books back to their study booth and dropping them all after tripping on his own shoelaces, “Maybe I can help you figure out who has your picture?” Harry says, looking unperturbed by his own clumsiness.

“No way, first you have to help me find who has my picture!” Louis shouts, earning him a pointed look from the librarian. Louis’ new picture had finally gotten picked up, the same day he dropped it off. (Louis had methodically checked the basket that day, finally coming out triumphant.)

“Oh,” Harry re-stacks his books, wiping the dust off the covers, “Nick has your photo.”  
Louis pales, “Nick _Grimshaw_?! That’s so useless, I already know him! And I already hate him!”

Liam can’t help but chuckle, “And after all the trouble you went through to pick out the perfect picture.”

“ _God_ ,” Louis buries his face in his hands, “This is a nightmare. He’s probably wanking over that picture of me at this. Very. Moment.”

Harry insists that there is probably no foul play going on regarding Nick Grimshaw’s penis, but Louis remains unconvinced. Liam is still single-mindedly worried about who might possibly have a very sentimental and very shirtless picture of him posted on a bulletin board in their dorm room. “Harry,” he points a very determined finger in his direction, “I’m counting on you to help me find whoever has my picture. It’s our new mission, okay?” 

Harry gives him a quick salute, dropping another book in the process, “I accept this mission.”  
“Lou?” Liam spares a doe-eyed look over to Louis, who’s sulking heavily, “Will you help?”

There’s a pregnant pause, one accentuated by Harry very conspicuously blowing dust off the cover of a particularly ancient book of poetry. Liam wonders what a photography student needs with all these books, but if he took the time to wonder about every curious thing Harry did, he’d have no time left at all, so he stops wondering.

Finally, “Alright, alright. But, after my experience…” Louis exhales heavily reaches over to pat Liam’s hand and fixes him with a pointed look, lips tilting, “I’m just saying you’ve gotta be careful what you wish for. You know what I mean?”

Liam’s not sure he does know what Louis means, but he finds himself nodding anyway.

 

**+**

**June**

Zayn tries everything. Well. _Almost_ everything.

He scours the school cafeteria, he spends inordinate amounts of time in the library, peering out, hawk-eyed, at the photo basket. He scrolls endlessly through the university’s online roster, barely making it to his own name and picture before giving up. He looks up the closest beaches before deciding that’s a stupid tactic, and it’s not like he can just stand on the beach and expect the guy from the photo to show up. He sketches out an approximation of the boy’s tattoos and hits up all the local places and his own tattoo artists, but none of them recognize it. He scans the picture, reverse Google Image searches it, nothing. He prints out very suspicious-looking posters with a black-and-white scan of the photo that say “HAVE YOU SEEN THIS MAN?” with the number of Zayn’s burner phone on the bottom. (Honestly, fuck anyone who ever said his old Nokia wouldn’t come in handy someday.) (Zayn tears the posters down the next day.)

Essentially, Zayn’s done everything except straight-out ask his friends and acquaintances if they know the boy in the photo. For some reason that feels wrong, like cheating. It would, of course, be the simplest solution – someone is bound to know who the boy is, or recognize him from somewhere. He could set up a Facebook group, post the photo, and be done with it in the matter of a few days. But Zayn has never been one for the path of least resistance.

Well, at least not when he’s sober. “Fuck… you know that photo swap thing outside the library?” Zayn takes a long drag of the spliff before passing it back to Louis, who nods, “Well, like, I ended up with this photo of some guy at the beach, and I’m trying to figure out who it is, but I can’t, and it’s driving me nuts, you know? He’s fit as fuck too, like… I can’t figure it out.”

Louis lets out a breathy chuckle, “I didn’t know you liked boys?”

Zayn flinches involuntarily. He gets too comfortable when he’s high, too talkative, too forgetful. But he forgets all the time the split-second alienation of coming out, not just once but every time he encounters someone new. With Louis, though, the feeling passes quickly. He’s pretty sure that Louis’ hooked up with his fair share of guys, and they’re both completely baked, besides.

“Yeah, like. It’s been a while since I’ve liked a guy though.” Zayn makes grabby hands at the joint, “I don’t know… I don’t know why I’m bringing it up.” He really doesn’t.

A snort, “Because you can’t shut up when you’re high.”

“That’s the pot calling the kettle… something-or-other.” Zayn pouts. He knows very well now that Louis is a menace when he’s high (as he is when he’s not).

“Yeah, well you’ve been hogging the joint, mate!” Louis snags it back, bringing it to his lips and spreading his legs out. He’s only known him for a few months, but Zayn likes Louis a lot. They met by accident, both having chosen the same smoking spot on the roof of the building behind the library. (“Used to smoke in my room, but my new roommate doesn’t like it so much,” Louis had said. Zayn had just nodded, shared his blunt without even thinking about it.) It was a friendship built on sharing – and oversharing, probably.

They’re on a part of the roof that can’t be seen from the sidewalk, or at least that’s what Zayn lets himself believe, since they’ve never gotten caught. The building isn’t that large, but they’re high enough up that the people they see passing all look the same, faces blurred by distance. Regardless, Zayn keeps a sharp eye out for his mystery photo man. He’s been doing that this whole time, looking for him in everyone he meets, everywhere he goes. It’s getting a bit ridiculous, Zayn thinks. He’s convinced he sees the photo boy at the coffee shop across the street, and then at the Tesco, and then at the bar he goes to with Niall after class. It feels like he’s everywhere, but Zayn is no closer to finding him.

“Okay, so,” Louis blows a smoke screen between them, “Lemme see the picture, maybe I know him.”

Zayn stiffens, “Uh. Don’t have it on me.” He says quickly, though he can feel it burning a hole in the front pocket of his jeans.

He’s a shit liar, but Louis is halfway to gone so he doesn’t notice, “Really? Woulda thought you’d have it on you at all times, just whip it out every time you’re with someone. ‘Excuse me, do you know this man? I really wanna shag him.’”

“I do not sound like that.” Zayn mumbles, but the fact that his accent is even thicker when he’s high is not helping his case, “I’d feel weird showing people it anyway… I don’t wanna seem like I’m stalking the guy.”

Louis looks like he’s about to make a comment, but just grins instead, “Well my mate Harry set the thing up, I can ask him about it if you really want.”

“Wait, you know Harry?” Zayn’s eyebrows tilt up; Louis ticks his head to the right and mumbles an ‘unfortunately.’ “I met him, when I was at the thing, the photo thing. He saw me pick out the picture – well, like, originally it was another picture. But then I switched with this girl, so. Yeah, I haven’t seen him since, though.”

Louis takes another pull, wincing a bit, “Not quite sure of all that you just said there, mate. But yeah, I can give you his number or something if you want. Or, actually, we’re having an end of term party at my place on Friday, Harry’s going to be there if you want to come!” He jabs Zayn in the ribs with his elbow, “I probably should invite you anyway, so we could be proper mates and all, not just two blokes on a roof. I’ll introduce you all my friends and whatnot.”

Zayn grins, “Yeah? That would be ace, actually, I’ll bring my roommate, he’s also trying to figure out who’s in the photo he picked up.” He sees Louis shake his head, but he’s smiling, “Just text me the details.”

“Yeah, I’ll actually text you now that you’ve got your iPhone back.” Louis sniggers, “Was fresh hell trying to reach you when you lost it and had to use that old Nokia.”

“My old phone is perfectly fine. Got snake and everything.”

Louis’ getting properly baked now, Zayn can tell, because he lets out a loud, breathy cackle, the kind that’s annoying and endearing in a way only Louis can pull off. “Nah, but you should definitely come. Harry’ll be there, and all of his mental artsy classmates. We’re doing, like, a small early birthday celebration for my roommate too. You guys will probably get along, he’s into all that nerdy stuff you like—“

Zayn’s already tuned Louis out, though, thoughtlessly patting his pocket and searching the courtyard below for familiar faces.

 

_Queen’s Corner Coffee Shop. 4pm. She’ll be wearing yellow shorts._

Liam orders another heavily-sugared tea and re-reads the scrap of paper that Harry had slipped to him ever-so-surreptitiously over lunch. He feels like he’s about to go on a very strange blind date. Or, actually, he feels more like a secret agent. Maybe a hit man. A hit man with a vendetta against young girls in yellow shorts. His leg can’t stop jittering, and when his tea arrives, he just lets it sit. Why does Harry always have to make everything so weird?

“Um, are you Liam?”

Looking up, Liam takes in slim tan legs and – bingo – bright yellow shorts. The girl in front of him looks very cute, and, more importantly, very normal. He feels a flood of relief wash over him. “Yeah – yeah! Let me get your chair!”

The girl waves him away with a polite smiling, sitting down across from him and crossing her legs, “This is… a bit weird.”

Liam feels double relieved because, well, at least they’re on the same page. Harry had been very proud of himself, coming through so quickly on his promise to help Liam find the person who picked up his photo. And Liam was begrudgingly impressed when Harry had come to him, saying he had found a friend of a friend of a friend who remembered their friend Jade picking up a picture that sounded exactly like Liam’s. (“They picked it up almost right after I set it up, so it has to be yours!”)

He let Harry set up a quick meeting with the girl, but he wasn’t sure why Harry had to make it such a thing. He had sent them to a café more than a mile off-campus, rather than the one right by the library, and had given them obscure details about each other to look for, rather than just giving them each other’s numbers. Now that Liam really thought about it, this was all _extremely_ idiotic.

“Sorry about this,” Liam scratches the back of his neck, extending a hand, “Thanks for meeting me, though. Jade, right?”

They make some polite small talk, and Liam feels more and more grateful that Jade seems to be an actually nice person. Maybe he lucked out. Maybe Harry’s photo project will be more fruitful for him than he imagined.

Jade’s accent is thick when she speaks, “Actually, I apologize, but I don’t even have your photo anymore.”

“You—” Okay, Liam thinks, maybe he spoke too soon, “you don’t?”

She shakes her head, “No, I, like, traded it? With another guy, he had my picture and I guess I wasn’t quite ready to let it go, so I thought that’d be fair. I don’t even remember his name, I just know him from class.” Liam goes to open his mouth but Jade beats him to the punch, “And we already took our last exam, so…” Jade smiles apologetically; at least she has a pretty smile, “Sorry. Again. I mean, I could ask my friend Perrie? I think she has his number.”

Liam sighs shaking his head, “No, it’s not a problem, I don’t want you to go to the trouble. I’m not sure why this picture thing is bothering me so much.” He takes an instinctive sip of his tea before remembering how caffeinated he already is, “Curious, I guess,” he just keeps talking, unable to stop the words bubbling out of his mouth, “It was a picture my ex-girlfriend took of me, yeah? So it felt weird knowing someone had it, you know what I mean?”

“No, I get it!” Jade nods vehemently, “I was curious too, about my photo – it was me with an ex. I guess you don’t know how much you miss someone until you try to, you know… let go.” She nods again, just once, very firmly, and that’s… not quite what Liam meant. He echoes her nod anyway.

They talk for a bit longer, Jade ordering her own cup of tea, sipping politely. Liam’s never been good at reading the mood, but he goes for it. “I feel bad about making you come all the way out here,” Liam says, “But, did you want to grab a bite to eat?”

“Oh,” Jade smiles tightly, “I’m actually meeting someone here, in a bit… my ex-girlfriend, the one from the photo?”

A few hours later, when Liam recounts the tale of his fruitless café meeting with Jade, Louis can’t stop cackling, “How does this _always_ happen to you?”

Liam groans. Louis’s not wrong: this is not the first time a cute girl Liam was interested in turned out to be gay, or just more interested in girls. Even Sophia had gone on to date a girl after she and Liam broke up. “Is this my curse? Do I turn girls into lesbians?”

Across the room, Harry shakes his head, “Bisexuality is a thing, Liam.”

“I know that!” Liam whines, “But how am I supposed to compete with _girls_? Girls are amazing, and they all seem to have their lives together, and I can’t even get people to come to my birthday party.”

“Love isn’t a competition, Liam,” Louis deadpans in his best impression of Harry, “Besides, we’ve got a ton of people coming to your party!”

This doesn’t seem to cheer Liam up. He buries his face in his hands, groaning, “Great, maybe one of them will date me.”

Harry pats Liam on the head as he passes by, probably heading to raid their fridge, “Whenever you’re ready to expand your horizons, I’m here for you.”

Louis shrugs, “His dick _is_ nice. Very smooth.”

Liam muffles his scream in the nearest pillow.

 

If he’s being honest, Niall’s pretty sure he would do just about anything to get Zayn to stop acting weird. Bribery, blackmailing, dubious sexual favors: he’s ready to put it all out on the table.

“And how did you meet this _Loo-ee_ guy?” Niall feels like an overprotective father when Zayn tells him about the party, but it’s all kind of suspect, he can tell by the way Zayn keeps rubbing the back of his neck and grazing his fingertips over the scruff on the side of his face. A year of living together has given him some knowledge of Zayn’s body language, and everything is looking and feeling extremely shady.

“Smoking buddy,” Zayn’s shoulders tense and he tries to pass it off as a loose shrug, but Niall just narrows his eyes.

There’s a spread of pancakes and bacon in front of them – it was Niall’s turn to make Sunday breakfast – but it’s remained untouched, and that, more than anything else, screams to Niall that something abnormal is going on.

“… Why aren’t you eating?”

Brief panic flashes over Zayn’s face, “Don’t feel well. I ate a big dinner last night.”

If this were an interrogation, Niall would be shining the light right in Zayn’s eyes, “Which is it? Are you sick or just full?”

“Uh,” Zayn’s eyes flick down to the pancakes on the table, “Both.”

It’s physically impossible for Niall to narrow his eyes any further, but if he could, he would. It’s been almost two weeks since Zayn started acting like this, all jittery and jumpy, like he’s constantly walking on eggshells. Niall can tell he’s been losing sleep, not eating properly, skipping out on going to the pub or to parties. Zayn likes his alone time, Niall knows that, but Niall also knows that Zayn likes to let loose every now and again. Lately, though, he’s been strung so tight that Niall feels like he’s always watching where he’s walking, checking in case he might step on the one loose thread and watch his best friend unravel in front of him.  
Basically, there’s a line. And Zayn is so far over the line, he needs a jetliner to get back. There’s only one other time Niall has seen Zayn act even remotely like this… and that was back when—

Niall bangs a fist against the table so hard that the syrup bottle falls over into the pile of bacon, sending a few pieces flying over into Zayn’s lap, “You’re lovesick!!”

“… No.” Zayn picks the bacon up between his pointer and middle fingers, placing it back on the plate, “Just normal sick.”

“You can’t lie for shit, Malik, I can see you doing the shifty-eye thing.”

A pause and then “‘M not lovesick.”

Niall sighs and starts spearing pancakes on to his plate. Might as well eat. “C’mon Zayn, who is it? You know you can tell me anything, right?”

Zayn is pouting, but looks resigned to his fate, “You know I don’t eat bacon, right?”

He nods towards the massive pile of bacon on the table, and Niall shakes his head with a smile, “Please. That’s all for me.”

After breakfast Zayn finally tells Niall about the photo, about the party, and, honestly, Niall’s not seeing what the big deal is. Just another romantic mission of Zayn’s. He’s losing track of them, actually. First it was the mysterious girl upstairs, then the boy at the café across from the library, then his philosophy professor—

“—and the girl from the Tesco bakery! Fuck, she was my favorite. I was kind of sad when that fell through, their éclairs are amazing.”

Zayn has already buried his face in the arm of the couch, “You can stop talking now, Niall.”  
It’s just that, and Niall’s not sure how to properly put it, Zayn’s just like that. He’s romantic and a huge softie, despite the fact that sometimes he looks like he’d come at you for looking at him funny. Niall likes it because Zayn’s the nicest, person he’s ever met, hands down. He deserves someone good, and Niall doesn’t mind helping. Even if it does seem like Zayn’s crush turnover rate is much higher than the average person’s.

“Okay, well let me see this guy.” Niall reaches his hand out expectantly, but is met only with a stiff-shouldered, wide-eyed Zayn, “… What?”

Zayn suddenly looks very interested in the loose threads on one of the couch’s accent pillows, “Uh. Haven’t actually, like. I haven’t actually shown anyone else the picture.”

Niall almost laughs, but covers it up with a cough, looking at the furrow of Zayn’s eyebrows, “Not even your friend throwing the party? How are you supposed to find the guy if you won’t show anyone the photo?” He doesn’t doubt that Zayn has a plan, not for one second, but he knows him well enough to know that it’s probably an idiotic, convoluted, overly-complicated plan. Niall’s pretty sure he’s told Zayn before that he doesn’t need all that extra stuff, all that extra thinking.

“Well I’m obviously going to show Harry the photo, like,” Zayn pouts, “I just feel weird showing other people. Like I’m… cheating or something.”

“’There’s no speed limit on the highway of love, man.’” Niall says in his best Bradford accent, an imitation of something Zayn once said when he came home high as shit and drunk in love with someone new.

Zayn ducks his head to hide his laugh, swatting Niall on the leg, “Alright, I get it. I’ll show you. Some other time, though, I think I’ve sustained enough humiliation for one morning.”

Niall reaches over to grab some leftover bacon from the kitchen table, “Going back to bed?”  
“Yeah, I’m scheduled for a nap.”

Niall just laughs and lets him amble off, “Oh, wait, when again is that party you mentioned?”  
“Tomorrow night, 10PM!”

“Good, I was scheduled to get drunk that night anyway!” Niall shuffles to the kitchen to start cleaning up after breakfast, and there’s the sound of Zayn chuckling under his breath before he hears the soft click of his door closing.

(Zayn might have thought he was joking, but Niall pens the party into his planner before starting on the dishes.)

 

It’s 9:59PM and Liam is late to his own birthday party.

“I can’t believe you’re making me pay for my own birthday cake.”

“I can’t believe you didn’t even ask what he looked like!”

Louis can’t let it go. And Liam kind of can’t believe it either. He was so focused on the awkwardness of his strange café rendezvous that he didn’t even think to ask Jade what the boy who now had his photo looked like.

With a groan, Liam passes a few notes across the counter to the bakery cashier and watches her box up his cake. This is it, this is his birthday celebration: a Tesco cake and a dead-end mystery.

“It’s just that this was our _chance_ ,” Louis whines, “I’ve got all these people coming tonight, what if that guy is one of them? Now we won’t be able to tell!”

Liam pouts, “I don’t want to talk about it.” He fiddles with the sleeve of his shirt, pushing it up to his elbow. Louis shoots him a surprisingly apologetic look and they walk the rest of the way back in silence.

The thing is, and Liam doesn’t mean to be melodramatic, that his birthday always makes him a bit… anxious. Not the thought of growing up – actually that’s always been the exciting part to him, getting to grow up and see more of his own life unfold in front of him. But despite the fact that the past few years have definitely been a far cry from his empty sixteenth birthday, he still feels a bit haunted by the idea that everyone is just humoring him, that they don’t actually like him. The feeling had stayed with him even when he was dating Sophia; it was like he just couldn’t shake it. Maybe that was what finally broke them down, that pervasive sense of disbelief.

“Oi,” Louis elbows him in the ribs lightly, “I left my key in the room along with my wallet.”

Liam just nods, shuffles in front of Louis to key into the flat. Maybe he’ll be able to convince them that he doesn’t feel well – retreat to his room and hide out until the party finally dies down around 4AM. Louis will be mad and Harry will be pouty but –

“HAPPY BIRTHDAY!!”

He takes in everything quickly: there’s already about thirty people crammed in their living room, all shouting out their early birthday wishes; the lights are dimmed and nearly everyone already has a glass in their hand; there is a massive cake, stood fairly precariously on the coffee table. It’s nearly three feet tall, Liam guesses, decorated with a large fondant cut-out of the Batman symbol on the middle tier. Lastly, and maybe least surprising, Harry is stood proudly with his hands on his hips, and he’s wearing nothing, save for a pair of small yellow shorts and a fine dusting of flour.

“Do you love it?” He shouts, gesticulating wildly towards the cake.

Liam is speechless. He wants to feel embarrassed about his teary eyes and goofy smile but he’s really, really not. He has two amazing best friends, a party full of people who just want to get pissed and have a good time, and no more exams to worry about. “When—“

“During my shifts at the bakery these past few days!” Harry pipes up, “I had to rush it a bit at the end, but Barbara let me strip down a bit,” he narrows his eyes and makes a straight gesture with his hands, “so I could _focus_.”

Louis jabs Liam again in the ribs, less gentle this time, “Had to get you out of the room so he could bring it over.”

“Thank you… really. It’s amazing.” Liam smiles tearfully.

Louis and Harry look smug, but loving, and fall over each other to envelope him in a hug, “Ah, don’t cry Panyo!” Louis reaches inside the hug to tug on Liam’s nipple, “You still have over a month before you’re actually old like me, so enjoy it!”

“Yeah, alright, alright,” Liam rubs a hand over his chest and pushes Louis away, but he can’t even pretend to be annoyed by anything right now. Right now, he can’t wipe the dumb smile off his face. Right now, everything feels _right_.

“Wait… you actually made me buy this cake though,” Liam says, holding up the bag with his Tesco cake, probably a bit smushed from the group hug.

Louis snatches the cake and heads to the kitchen to put it in the fridge, “ _That’s_ your birthday cake, _this_ is our hangover cake!” He shouts over his shoulder.

When he turns back to Harry, Liam finds himself being handed a cup of a liquid that, upon inspection, is overwhelmingly sweet, and, knowing Harry, almost 100% guaranteed to get him drunk in an alarmingly short amount of time.

“We need to find you someone to make out with,” Harry says to him very seriously, “Nick says that if you don’t hook up with someone by the end of the night, he’s obligated to give you your pre-birthday snog.”

Liam lifts his drink in a quick cheers and downs it all in one go.

 

It’s 12:02AM and Zayn is _drunk_. Very, very drunk. Possibly more drunk than he’s ever been in his entire life, which isn't a difficult task to achieve, considering how little he actually drinks.

The weed is probably not helping, he thinks, but when he finally runs into Louis a bit after eleven he felt nearly required to kip out to the balcony and have a quick light. He and Niall had gotten to the party late, sometime after ten-thirty, and by that time things had already gotten pretty hectic, with some kind of near-hedonistic circle of people gathered around a massive cake. Niall seemed relieved to get out of the crowd into some semblance of fresh air, even though now it’s lousy with smoke.

“Zayn tell you about his mystery man, then?” Niall says to Louis once they’ve been introduced, “He won’t let me see ‘im!”

Louis takes a drag and offers the spliff to Niall, who shakes his head no, “Yeah, I didn’t see the picture either, c’mon Zayner, let’s see it!”

It takes Zayn a second to realize they’re talking to him, and he rubs his eyes with the back of his hand, “What – no, like. I already told you.”

“You’re going to show it to Harry anyway, whenever we find him!” Niall says, and Zayn knows, deep down, that he’s being logical, because Niall is always logical. But Zayn just… isn’t, sometimes. He doesn’t feel right putting all his cards out on the table like that, he doesn’t feel safe.

“Could be ages before we find Harry, he tends to get caught up in big parties like this,” Louis leans forward towards Niall, almost conspiratorially, “Social butterfly, and all.”

Zayn breathes a sigh of relief when this brings them off the topic for a bit. Niall and Louis shoot the shit a bit more, bickering about football, before someone inside calls for Louis and he excuses himself. There’s a minute or two of silence; Zayn finishes off the joint, puts it out under his boot when it starts getting too harsh.

Eventually, Niall leans over and bumps Zayn’s shoulder with his own, “Hey. If I tell ye a secret, will you tell me yours?”

It’s a game they used to play when they first became roommates, when Zayn was having trouble opening up. It wasn’t that he didn’t _want_ to, just that it was nearly physically impossible. He’d open his mouth and nothing would come out. So Niall would always meet him in the middle.

“So,” Niall starts once he sees Zayn nod, “I’m, uh. I’m going to America.”

“… What?”

“Woo! Feels good to have that off my shoulders!” Niall grins, a bit sheepish, “Over the summer, yeah. The whole summer, actually, I’ll be in the good ol’ U S of A. Big trip with the some of the film department.”

Zayn just nods, frowning a bit. In a few seconds he’ll congratulate Niall on his trip, ask him where exactly in the US he’ll be going, joke about bringing back some souvenirs for him or tease him about what kind of American girls he’ll be pulling. It’s not like he and Niall had any plans together for the summer, but it’s not like they didn’t not have plans. Or something. Zayn’s not quite sure why he’s feeling a bit put out by the whole thing, except now he knows for sure that he’ll be alone this summer, renting some cheap flat while he stays in Manchester for his internship. Last summer it had been the both of them, Zayn and Niall, splitting the rent on a terrible two bedroom, ordering in and watching terrible films on Netflix nearly every night.

Zayn goes to say _Congrats, I’ll miss you_ , but what comes out is, “When did you find out? That you’d be going?”

“A week ago or so,” Niall frowns, “Look, I wanted to tell you, but I don’t know. You seemed off—“

“I’m not a child, Niall, I’m supposed to be your friend,” Zayn snaps, the words coming out harsher than he intended. He sees Niall bristle, “No, mate, that’s not what I meant. Just, like, you caught me off guard.” He can tell he’s hurt Niall’s feelings a bit, though, and Niall is usually particularly unflappable when it comes to petty drama, but he hates to have his loyalty questioned.

A bit of breeze makes Niall shiver slightly, but Zayn is already warmed by the booze and the buzz, “You know, it’s not exactly easy watching you when you’re in a right mood, or a rut, or whatever you wanna call it,” Niall says, being all-too logical, again, “I didn’t want to prod you before you were ready to talk, didn’t want to come home flaunting my good news around while you look like you’re miserable!”

“Alright, but I don’t need you to handle me with kid gloves.” Zayn mumbles.

“Don’t I?” Niall looks a bit manic, laughing under his breath in a way that makes Zayn take a step back, lower back hitting the balcony railing, “Because you’re always putting a bunch of unnecessary rules on yourself. Like with this feckin’ picture thing, you’re just running away from actually doing anything. For a hopeless romantic, god – if you want this guy, then just go for it! Stop hiding behind made up rules and shit and just – “ Niall trails off, loses his train of thought, apparently, and immediately deflates, running a hand through his hair and letting out a long breath.

They’re quiet for a second. Then, “… That kind of hurt, mate.”

Niall smiles weakly; Zayn knows better than to get mad at him when he speaks his mind. Because the fight – if he could even call it that – is over even before it really begins.

“I’m sorry, Zayn,” Niall reaches over to sling his arm around his roommate, “I should’ve just talked to you about it. I’m a right arse.”

“Kinda. But I get it.” Zayn shuffles a bit to reach into his back pocket, where the photo of his mystery man is. He’s taken to carrying it everywhere – carefully transferring it every morning depending on which trousers he’s wearing. It’s a bit serial killer-y now that he’s really thinking about it, “Here. Check it out.”

He holds the photo up in front of Niall’s face, between his thumb and pointer finger. Niall just stares at it for a while, brow furrowed in a way that makes Zayn think he knows who the boy is. But then his smile just breaks into a wide grin and he shakes his head, “No clue who that is. Looks like I made a big fuss over nothing,” he raises an eyebrow, “He is fit, though.”

“Right?” Zayn smiles, “I’m sorry I was being a…”

“Obsessed lovesick idiot?”

“Yeah, that.”

The pair make their way inside for a kiss-and-make-up shot, followed by another, and another. They both eat a sizable portion of a cake they find in the fridge – the massive Batman cake had already been completely devoured, not unimpressively. “You don’t even like cake,” Niall laughs, and Zayn had forgot somehow, caught up in the hype of everything, and he eventually pays for it, the over-sugary icing making him sick and sleepy. It’s dark in the apartment, but he still catches Niall slinking off in a corner with some tall brunette, and he takes the opportunity to throw up in the bathroom and then sneak into a free room, passing out face-down on the duvet.

They never do find Harry.

 

Nick Grimshaw has a presence, Liam thinks. He always looks like he’s a bit wankered, even without having a drop to drink. He saunters up to Liam almost snake-like, winding an arm around his shoulder. “Having any luck?”

Liam’s not sure what Nick’s referring to, but he can’t remember the last time he had any kind of luck at all, so he just shakes his head, “Does that mean you have to make out with me now?”

“ _Please_ ,” Nick laughs, “I’ll spare you, I know you’re saving yourself for your mystery man, and all.”

A dark pink blush spreads across Liam’s face, “I am not,” He shoves at Nick’s arms, “I’m just curious who’s got my picture.”

Nick just laughs again, pulling his arm back and reaching into his pocket, “I’ve actually got a new mystery man myself! Picked this up at Harry’s set-up the other day…”

“I thought you had Louis’ picture,” Liam’s brow furrows – Nicks’ still struggling to fish the picture out of the front pocket his tight jeans.

“I did!” Nick finally gets the photo, dangling it in front of Liam’s face, and it is decidedly not the semi-shirtless photo of Louis, “But that’s no fun, so I picked up another one.”

“That’s cheating,” Liam pouts, instinctively snatching the photo out of Nick’s hand.

It’s a bit blurry – or is that just because he’s a bit tipsy? But there’s one thing in the photo that’s clear; the focus is on a boy around Liam’s age, handsome, vaguely familiar looking, like maybe he’s seen him around campus or walking to class or in the line at the coffee shop. He’s crouched in front of a young girl who’s blurred out in the forefront of the photo, and he’s mid-laugh, a wide smile on his face that Liam finds himself echoing, grinning dumbly at the photo like he’s looking at an old friend.

Nick’s giving him a look, “You know him?”

“Oh—uh. No, I don’t.”

Nick goes to say something else – probably something teasing about the redness of Liam’s face, half embarrassment, half alcohol-induced – but he gets intercepted by a blonde girl Liam doesn’t recognize, and they fall into a conversation that Liam can’t really follow.

He thinks about giving Nick the picture back, of the new ‘mystery man,’ as it were. But he doesn’t. Something about the boy’s smile, his dark eyes, long eyelashes… Liam makes a split-second decision and pockets the picture. Just in case.

 

It’s 3:05AM by the time Liam wanders into his room, not drunk enough to be incapacitated, but not sober enough to keep his eyes open. Halfway through unbuttoning his shirt he realizes that he’s not alone. And he’s not just seeing things.

There’s someone face down on the left side of his bed, limbs akimbo. Liam doesn’t recognize him, not that he can really see anything of the boy expect a rumpled shirt and black hair. He notices a spread of tattoos across the boy’s forearm, but sleepiness is impairing his vision enough that they all kind of blur together, just a smattering of black ink on olive skin.

“Hello…?” Despite the fact that this is his room, Liam doesn’t want to be rude to the passed-out stranger, so he runs a hand gently across the small of the boy’s back, “Are you okay?”

“Mm,” the boy grunts, and Liam can hear him smacking his lips, the sound muffled by the covers, “’M okay.”

Liam laughs, “D’you want something for your head?” The boy nods his head yes, “Do you wanna roll over?” The boy shakes his head no.

Liam just shrugs and strolls to the bathroom, coming back with two ibuprofen and a glass of water, setting it down on the side table before sitting down on the empty side of the bed. He pulls one leg up to his chest, “You know, if you want to feel better you’re going to have to actually sit up and drink the water.”

The other boy groans, before saying something that Liam can’t quite make out.

“What’s that?”

A beat of silence, “I don’t want people seeing me like this.”

“Bro!” Liam laughs, “Everyone gets drunk! Don’t be embarrassed.”

But the boy shakes his head, “No, like. I look… _bad_.”

Liam flops on the open side of the bed, jostling the frame enough that the drunken stranger groans again, “So you don’t want to sit up because you look… bad?” There’s a nod, “I mean, I’m not gonna judge you! Plus, I’m not really into dudes so, like. You don’t have to worry about me judging you for not being good looking right now or whatever.” Liam starts, “Not that, like, I’d judge you for being gay or something. If you. If you were. And not that I can’t recognize when a guy is, you know, attractive! I can definitely do that. You seen Justin Timberlake? Major man crush…” His rambling trails off and Liam finishes with a steady, affirmative nod, not that the boy can even see him.

But when he looks over again, the boy has brought his hands up to the sides of his face, to cover himself even further.

Not much else he can do, Liam figures, shrugging and climbing under the covers, “Suit yourself. I’m just gonna sleep, then. Since, you know, this is my room and all.”

The boy doesn’t apologize, just lies there. Liam curls his blanket over half his face and is almost asleep before he hears a muffled, “Aren’t you going to turn off the light? Or change?”  
Liam yawns, “Too tired.” And that’s the end of the conversation, until he hears a quiet mumble that sounds a bit like _‘You’re weird.’_ Which, well. The boy’s not wrong.

Sometime in the middle of the night, Liam thinks he feels the boy finally sit up and take the ibuprofen and down the water all in gulp. But when he opens his eyes to get a glimpse of him, the light of the lamp on the side table blinds him.

All Liam manages to make out is a silhouette, and before he can say anything, the boy turns off the light and leaves, without even looking at him.

 

The clean-up is horrendous.

Liam wakes up alone; the only proof there was anyone else there the previous night is a vaguely person-shaped imprint on the other side of the duvet and the lingering smell of cigarettes.

They each set out on their assignments: Liam handles the trash, Louis scrubs the stains out of the carpet, and Harry, naked save for an apron, makes breakfast.

“This is… the worst.” Louis is massively hungover, eyes a bit bloodshot from the weed, residual hairspray making his hair stand up in impossible directions. He slumps down on the freshly-cleaned tile and looks up at Liam, “Did you manage to find your mystery bloke last night?”

Liam feels a bit sour that he has to keep re-living his lack of success in solving his photo mystery, “Nope. No luck.” And it was a nice night, a perfect night by all accounts, what with so many people showing up to celebrate his faux-birthday, but he still didn’t really meet anyone new. Then again, he wasn’t really sure what he was expecting. And he could never not be grateful for the friends he does have.

Louis shrugs, “I guess he never showed up.” 

Liam wouldn’t have minded getting to know that drunken boy, he thinks, the one who ended up passed out in his bed. He seemed… interesting. Liam’s not sure why that’s the thing that comes to his mind, but he files it away for later, or maybe for never, since the boy had been gone by morning without a note or a thank you or even a goodbye.

“Guess not.”


	2. Two Bed in a Parlay

**July**

Harry smells Zayn before he sees him. The coffee shop is only so large, and there’s a familiar cologne and a familiar face. _Gucci by Gucci._ Harry’s only met the guy once before, but his signature scent is very apparent. He doesn’t stop to wonder if it’s strange that he even noticed it – Harry’s not in the habit of questioning strange things.

“Fancy meeting you here,” Harry says, tapping Zayn’s shoulder with a long pointer finger.  
The smaller boy nearly douses himself in coffee, holding on to a travel cup in each hand, “Who— Harry,” he looks a bit lost, “What are you doing here?”

Harry hoists his own hot chocolate, “Same as you, I guess. Brief 6AM caffeine run,” he frowns, “Well, hot chocolate for me. I’m trying this new no-caffeine thing, as of yesterday. Although… does hot chocolate have caffeine? I’ll probably should have looked that up,” he smiles down at Zayn, who still looks a bit dubious of their encounter, “Anyway! What’re you up to?”

“Just work,” Zayn replies, “We’re finishing a big project, my supervisor and I have been up all night so.” He gestures wearily, and Harry sees how haggard he looks, unwashed hair, an oversized Green Lantern shirt and ripped jeans. Although, truth be told, he still looks better than half the people in the café.

“Yikes,” Harry winces. They chat for a few minutes, and Harry’s sure that he wanted to ask Zayn something, except now he can’t remember, and he’s not sure that he wants to bother him now, not when the poor boy looks like he’s going to pass out any minute.

“I should go, hot yoga starts in ten minutes,” Harry says, and Zayn just nods, giving him a tired smile. They head out the door together, “Hey, and I’m going to be in town for a little bit, I’m visiting a friend so like, if you wanna hang, let me know!”

Zayn nods droopily at him before heading on his way. Harry arrives promptly for his hot yoga class and gets all the way to full locust pose before he realizes that he never gave Zayn his number.

 

It’s well into July before Zayn finally has a dream about the boy in the photo. It’s nothing much, just an achy, fog-like imagination occupied by heavy hands on his hips and the taste of salt water on his tongue.

It doesn’t surprise him that it’s taken so long for it to happen. The dream, that is. Zayn’s always had a great imagination, but he’s also always had a habit of policing himself about it. Like some kind of useless brand of lucid dreaming, he always ends up editing his own dreams ruthlessly, making them more realistic, more possible, at least in the most ideal of universes. And so, because Zayn doesn’t really know anything about his mystery boy other than the fact he’s ridiculously fit and has got a nice smile, it’s hard for him to slot into Zayn’s specifically-crafted dream reality. Zayn doesn’t know the color of the boy’s eyes – so in the dream they barely appear, instead squinted in laughter or closed in pleasure, head tipped back while Dream Zayn traces his mouth down his abs.

“Stop doing it then!” Niall says during one of their Skype chats when Zayn tells him about his dream-editing habit, “Dreams are supposed to be fun, dude.”

“ _Dude_ ,” Zayn copies in his best American accent, “I can’t stop it on command. I dunno, I think I’m just weird.”

“True, but not ‘cause of that,” Niall grins, “I’m telling you, like last night I had a dream that I had a threesome with Emma Watson and Emma Stone.”

Zayn nods, “But what was the set-up?”

“Huh?”

“Like, how did you end up hanging out with the both of them in the first place? What were the, er, threesome logistics, as it were? Doesn’t Emma Stone have a boyfriend? Did they keep getting confused because they have the same name, or – I guess that’d be easier for you, so you don’t forget a girl’s name.”

Niall groans into his hands, “First of all, that was one time. Second of all, what the fuck! Listen to yerself.”

Just a shrug, Zayn flopping down on his bed, tilting the screen down so he can still properly see Niall. He’s wildly tan, probably nearly as dark as Zayn by now. “S’just unlike you,” Niall says, “Since your writing is never so, like, realistic. What’s it called again?”

“Magic realism.” Zayn supplies.

“ _That’s_ weird, is what it is. Good, but weird.”

Zayn grins, because he’s spent most of the first month of his holiday missing Niall; no one else is ever quite as honest with him.

Everything is fine, though, considering. The cheap flat he rents is surprisingly roach-free, there’s a good Indian food place just a block away, and his internship supervisor fawns over his work constantly. The photo of his mystery boy still sits in his pocket every day, but it’s essentially just a habit at this point, like a vaguely creepy good luck charm.

In a way, he’d almost rather not know who it is, not meet the boy. At this point, the mystery has become almost… comforting. The one thing he’s fine being in the dark about. Or something like that. In actuality, Zayn just hasn’t been thinking much about it lately, consumed with deadlines and research and office parties. 

Which is why it feels like a cold bucket of water’s been dumped on him when he runs into Harry at 6AM after a night of no sleep and copious amounts of coffee. He’d forgotten that it was even a real option, giving up on the road-less-traveled, path-of-most-resistance, pseudo-romantic quest for the boy in the photo, and just straight up asking Harry about it, asking someone who might know him. He feels a bit like melting into the floor, honestly, too strung-out and on far too little sleep to even consider reaching into his back pocket where the photo still rests. His hands had been occupied with coffee, besides.

That night, Zayn passes out as soon as he gets home, not even bothering to change out of his clothes. Sometime around midnight he rolls over, nearly falls off the bed, and finally pulls off his jeans, opting for sweatpants instead. He carefully takes the photo out of his trouser pocket, placing it almost ceremoniously on the nightstand. It reminds him of something Waliyha’s friends had convinced her to do when she was younger, a superstitious ritual where they said a boy would fall in love with you overnight if you slept with his photo next to your bed and an un-worn sock under your pillow. He suddenly feels a bit childish.

_so do u know this guy or what? xx Z_

He snaps a picture of the photo and texts it to Louis before he can talk himself out of it. Then he falls back on the bed, passing out the moment his head hits the pillow.

 

**+**

**August**

Louis never texts back.

 

For his actual birthday, Liam has a small dinner with his family, then hits the pub with some friends from home. By the time he crawls into bed he’s sufficiently knackered, but still up the next morning at 8AM sharp, ready to head back to campus early.

“Take care of yourself.” His mom, says, patting him gently on the cheek. It’s the same thing she’s said to him every time he leaves home. Even though Liam nods perfunctorily, he’s not really sure he’s ever learned how to properly take care of himself.

“You’re a good cook, though,” Harry says that night, once Liam’s back on campus and they start talking about it, “I mean at least you’re getting your three squares.”

Liam raises his eyebrows, “You say that now, but you wouldn’t even touch the last dinner I made you.”

“Sorry, mate, I can’t really do noodles. They remind me of—“

“Your own limbs?”

“—worms.” Harry slaps Liam’s arm, “Ha ha, very funny.”

He continues helping Liam unpack, the flat quiet without Louis, and they order some Chinese in celebration of the impending cleanliness of the living room. 

“Weird how much we get done without Louis here,” Harry mumbles through a forkful of pork fried rice.

“Or Nick.” Liam points out, “Actually, I’ve been wondering, it’s a bit weird how often he’s over here even when you’re not here, right?” Harry’s in their room more than not, although Liam’s not sure why Harry doesn’t like being in his own room. Actually, Liam’s not sure if Harry even rents his own place on campus and isn’t just some sort of modern vagabond.

Harry shrugs, “I mean, you guys are friends too.”

Liam nods, “Still, Louis’ constant mocking can’t be very enticing.”

“His ass on the other hand…” Harry points his chopsticks towards Liam, who nods solemnly.  
Liam can almost physically feel the gears in his mind running. There’s a beat of silence and then, “Hey Haz… uh. About that thing you said to me before my birthday party? About—“

“Expanding your horizons?” Harry supplies, wiggling his eyebrows and slurping particularly loudly at his lo mein. (Liam knew that he was just lying about not liking noodles… the bastard).

Liam nods quickly. One thing that’s nice about Harry is that he can always seem to read Liam’s mind, meaning that the more embarrassing things can often go unsaid (by Liam, at least).

He’s starting to regret that, though, as Harry bats his eyelashes, “Why, Liam… I’m flattered.”

“Not you,” Liam groans, chucking a fortune cookie at him, “Just like. In general. I don’t know, I’ve been thinking about it.

“Want me to help you pull a guy, then?”

“Not… exactly? I’m not really one for one-offs.”

Harry cracks open the fortune cookie Liam had thrown at him, “I’ll hook you up with someone I know, then! Like a blind date. Super casual. See if you’re into it.”

The idea of Harry planning a blind date for him is kind of giving Liam heart palpitations, and he recalls the hyper-awkward meet-up Harry had organized for Liam and Jade. “Can I maybe, pre-screen him or something?”

“Sure!” Harry chuckles at his fortune before going back to shoveling food into his mouth, “I think I’ve got the perfect guy for you already though! He’s gorgeous, like, probably the best-looking human I’ve ever met, so I imagine that’ll ease any potential weirdness.”

Liam snorts, “How so?”

“I mean, even if you feel awkward you can always just admire his face. I swear to god, I ran into him over the summer and he said he hadn’t slept all night and he still looked straight off the runway,” Harry laughs, “Plus he was wearing some superhero shirt, so as a fallback plan you guys can always just watch The Avengers and jack each other off.”

“Okay, this conversation is over.”

Harry laughs around a forkful of food. Liam tries to distract himself with his own fortune cookie. He has to read his fortune a couple times before he can even wrap his mind around it: _You need only to understand that it is not necessary to understand, but only to enjoy._

He reads it out loud to Harry, who nods solemnly, “… in bed.”

 

**+**

**September**

“Hey. Asshole.”

The sound of Louis cackling on the other end of the phone is only worsening Zayn’s headache. He’s cold, he’s tired, and he’s getting the feeling that he won’t be getting the weed he was expecting.

“Greetings Zayn,” Louis says, in the tone of voice that makes Zayn imagine he’s got a cat in his lap and he’s petting it menacingly, “Did you get my note?”

He had. After getting a text from Louis to meet him on their usual roof in one hour for a smoke, Zayn had arrived an hour and a half later to find CALL ME written in sidewalk chalk on the surface of the roof in cursive script. The words had been framed by a dark pink heart, drawn to look like a candy heart.

“Yes and, more importantly, why?”

“I mean technically it’s Harry’s note since I sent him to write it for me,” Louis says, and Zayn can tell by the tininess of his voice that he’s been put on speaker phone, “He’s the only person I know who owns sidewalk chalk.”

“Is that why the message is in a heart?”

“It’s possible Harry thinks that I’m trying to ask you out or something,” Louis says, “But my real message is much, much more exciting, and I didn’t want him ruining the surprise.”

“I’m getting the sense that either way, one of us is going to be disappointed.” Zayn rubs a hand over his face and starts back towards the stairwell.

“I know who your photo guy is!”

The surprise almost send Zayn tumbling down the stairs, and he clutches the railing with white knuckles, “… What?”

Louis laughs, “I know him! I was going to just text you, but I thought that was a bit anticlimactic—“

“So you just ignored my text?”

“Shh, don’t pretend like you’re any better, you once didn’t text me back for a month and then tried to just re-start the conversation like nothing happened,” Zayn actually can’t argue with that, “ _Anyway_ , then I tossed around a few plans where I had him meet you on the roof, or I orchestrated some terrible meet cute for the two of you. But that felt too Harry-esque. So I’ve settled for just being able to see your face when you finally meet him. And obviously getting to watch the whole horrible thing unfold after that. My place, Saturday night, start-of-term party, 9PM.”

Zayn feels a bit like he’s just been given the exact time and place of his death. He finally makes it downstairs and out of the building in one piece, and the sun feels a bit more piercing than usual, “Uh.”

“I know. You’re speechless.” Louis cackles again, “I’ll see you then, bro.”

When Zayn finally makes it back to the apartment he must look as conflicted as he feels, because Niall immediately crowds him with offers of tea and an array American snacks he’d manage to get through customs, “Spray cheese?” He holds up the can with a sympathetic look.

Post-America Niall had looked like a changed man when Zayn picked him up from the airport. His skin still looks a bit more ‘burnt toast’ than ‘golden tan,’ but he looked good, hair freshly bleached, snapback in place, biceps bulging out of his American-flag-printed vest, and he was actually wearing sandals. (Zayn supposes the ridicule of Niall’s dodgy toes might have been less severe in the states.) Niall complains about it being colder than he’s used to the entire drive home, and Zayn just feels glad to have his best friend back.

“Well this is it, innit?” Niall says, shaking Zayn’s shoulder excitedly, “We gotta prepare!”

Niall is definitely more excited than Zayn, who only manages to summon some mild contentment when they pick out his outfit for the party. He wants to be happy, but he mostly just feels anxious, like before a test that he knows he hasn’t studied enough for, or like he’s about to meet his favorite celebrity and doesn’t want to be a disappointment. Or be disappointed. 

But he bottles the feeling, lets Niall order from their celebratory take out place, and does a bit of extra exfoliating before bed. He thinks, right before he nods off, that he might be ready for this after all.

 

By the time Saturday night rolls around, Zayn has all his party essentials: his favorite pair of jeans, with the photo of his mystery man tucked safely into the back pocket, a tight black shirt that emphasizes his shoulders, and his most well-worn leather jacket. In the right pocket: a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. In the left pocket: a stainless steel flask filled with Milk of Magnesia.

“You’ve done a lot of stupid things for love,” Niall says when they arrive at Louis’ apartment, “But going to a party while you have food poisoning is the dumbest thing yet.”

Zayn had thought the croissant he got at the cafeteria for breakfast Friday morning was a bit suspect, but never did he think life would screw him over this badly. But nothing – not Niall’s mothering, not his self-built cocoon of blankets, and _definitely_ not a dodgy croissant – could keep Zayn Malik from true love. He’d spent his entire Saturday drinking his weight in chamomile tea and unwillingly purging himself, and now here he was. At the threshold of destiny.

“I feel like I’m going to puke.”

Niall had not been pleased about Zayn’s insistence to still come to the party, but he eventually conceded, under the strict rule that they would leave at eleven and no later, “That’s kind of what happens when you’re sick, genius.”

Nevertheless, he gets Zayn a cup of water and props him up against the wall in the living room, next to a massive leafy plant, “You stay here,” Niall pats him gently on the cheek, “I’ll find Louis and then we’ll get your dude.”

“I can’t,” Zayn grips Niall’s forearm with all the strength he can muster (not much), “I can’t meet him like this! I look like… like a zombie or summat!”

“Then what the fuck are ye doing here?!”

“I couldn’t _not_ come!” Zayn winces, pinching the bridge of his nose between his fingers. He couldn’t stay at home after having Louis dick him around like this. That was his motto, at least for the day. Never let them see you sweat (metaphorically, of course, as he was already in a cold sweat at the moment).

“You’re unbelievable sometimes, I honestly—“ Niall looks appropriately exasperated, and Zayn can’t exactly blame him, but he stops mid-sentence and Zayn follows the line of his eye towards the kitchen, where snacks are laid out on the counter. Niall nudges him in the side, “Hey, isn’t that the guy from your photo?”

It is. In between the nachos and the brownies is Zayn’s mystery man. He could recognize him a mile away, even with a shirt on. His face is turned to the side just like in the photo, and he’s laughing at something and pulling at the neck of his sweater, his hand grazing against the birthmark on his neck. His beard is a bit fuller than in the photo, but it’s definitely him: a crisp, white smile, pink lips, and sandy brown hair gelled up in a quiff. He looks just as handsome as in the photo, and Zayn almost can’t believe he’s really real and not just a figment of Zayn’s imagination. It’s more than surreal, which might be why he feels himself sway on the spot.

“Okay,” Niall grips him with both hands, “You are about to pass out or throw up or both and it’s not going to be pretty, so we’re leaving.”

“Noooo,” Zayn moans, grasping at Niall’s shirt, “You need to talk to him! For me, please. Louis is going to lord this over me for-fucking-ever if you don’t, _please_.”

“I’m afraid I’m going to have to impose my better judgment.”

Zayn manages to squirm out of Niall’s hold and downs the rest of his water, “Just for a minute! Just go over there and talk to him for, like, five minutes. I promise that I will survive for five minutes.”

Niall looks unconvinced, but he also knows better than to deny Zayn in his romantic quests, “Five minutes. That’s all.”

“Make sure you… figure out if he even likes guys. You know.” Zayn flushes a bit, although that might just be the fever coming back on, “And don’t just ask him. Be, like, subtle.”

“Why can’t I just straight out ask him if he likes blokes?”

“Because if he does, then when we end up getting married he’ll always think of my best man as the guy who asked him if he fancied blokes at a party.” Zayn explains through clenched teeth.

“Bro… you would make me your best man?”

“Niall!”

“Yikes, okay, okay!”

Niall finally meanders over to the mystery boy and Zayn attempts to be as surreptitious as possible about simultaneously watching them and hiding his paling face behind the oversized leaves of the plant next to him. Now that he’s finally found his mystery man and seen that he is exactly as handsome as Zayn had purported, he _really_ doesn’t need to meet him for the first time looking like he’s about to keel over. Which is more than likely.

He can’t make out what Niall and Mystery Photo Man are talking about, but he can tell they’re hitting it off, which puts a weird feeling in the pit of his stomach. The boy says something and Niall hits him jokingly on the chest; the boy laughs it off, rubbing his pec with the back of his hand and Zayn can’t keep his mouth from watering when he notices the boy’s bicep straining against the material of his sweater. So close, yet so far.

“I am _feeling_ this plant accessorization,” there’s a syrupy voice in Zayn’s ear, and he jolts when he sees that it’s Harry, appraising him, “I like the look. The juxtaposition.”

Zayn gives Harry a withering smile. He still doesn’t know Harry well enough to know if the weird things he says are genuine or ironic or maybe ironically genuine. “Hi Harry,” he raises an arm in greeting.

Harry frowns, “You look a bit under the weather. Is something wrong?”

Zayn thinks Louis must have been hiding around the corner, waiting for the optimal dramatic entrance into the conversation, because the second Harry asks, Louis is striding up to them with a shit-eating grin on his face, “What’s _wrong_ ,” he says, “Is that Zayn has been keeping something from me, and I am about to blow his – oh shit. Zayn, you look like right death.”

“Cheers,” Zayn offers, wiping the sweat off his brow.

“Seriously,” Harry presses the back of his hand to Zayn’s forehead and pouts, “You’re running a serious fever… d’you want to lie down somewhere?”

Louis nods, pulling Zayn’s arm over his shoulder, “My room’s open, c’mon.”

Despite the fact that he feels like his body is melting from the inside out, Zayn swats feebly at Louis and Harry’s ministrations, “It’s fine, I’ll just…” he pauses to dry heave, which isn’t doing wonders for his credibility, “I’ll just have Niall take me home.”

He turns to look towards the kitchen, to try and catch Niall’s eye, but he can’t seem to find him. A strain of the neck proves not to help, until he finally catches someone’s eye, and it only takes him a second to realize that it’s his mystery man, gazing curiously at him with the warmest, softest brown eyes he’s ever seen.

Zayn promptly passes out.

 

Zayn’s not sure he would necessarily call himself _egotistical _, but he likes to think that he knows how to put himself together. Despite being a bit of an introvert, he knows how to make a first impression, at least when he wants to. Zayn was well known for being the favorite among his friends’ parents, easily doted upon. It all really came down to the fact that he could figure out what to say and what not to say. Most people wanted someone to talk at, not someone to talk to. Zayn knew when to keep his mouth shut, and he couldn’t really say he minded. He could always open it up later, but first impressions were essential.__

When he wakes up, surrounded by the plush cushions of Louis’ bed, Zayn finds out that he might have pulled off his most death-defying first impression ever: after locking eyes with his mystery boy, he threw up directly on the nearby plant and swiftly passed out, taking both Harry and Louis down with him, as well as a nearby lamp. There’s a nick on his cheek from where he’d landed on some of the rubble, and a wet compress on his forehead 

“I feel like a right eejit,” Niall says, rubbing up and down Zayn’s arm, “Never shoulda let you come here,” Zayn gives him a deadpan look, and Niall rolls his eyes, leaning down towards Zayn’s ear, “I managed to distract your bloke for a second, so he didn’t see you boot. Did see you take down half the party when you passed out, but I did my best.” Zayn feels a little bit better. 

When he looks up, both Louis and Harry are hovering over him with worried looks, “I’m fine,” Zayn assures them, and he’s not lying. He thinks the supreme embarrassment of what just happened might have somehow strengthened his immune system, “Thank you though, for, like, making sure I didn’t die.” 

“Is everything okay?” There’s a deep, worried voice from the doorframe and when Zayn looks over, it’s him. The mystery photo boy. The man of his literal dreams. The ocean-soaked, bare-chested, Poseidon. Zayn blinks rapidly and thinks he might be going a bit overboard. For a long minute, no one says anything, and there is just an across-the-board eyebrow raise from all four of them. It makes Zayn think about his first year at uni, when he and Niall had become friends. It was only during the very last day of the Anthropology class they shared that Niall and Zayn actually formally met. The professor was right mad, and the class particularly saturated with the strangest cross-section of students the university could offer. Therefore, out of necessity, boredom, and the fact that their seats were exactly opposite of each other in the discussion circle the professor had them arrange their chairs in, Zayn and Niall had created a sort of unspoken language between each other. It was mostly comprised of eye rolls and subdued hand movements, but somehow Niall eventually asked Zayn if he needed a roommate for next year through a series of blinks. Zayn never did quite figure that one out. But it worked. 

Zayn only remembers this because he needs some way to let Niall know that under no circumstances can Louis be allowed to tell the mystery photo man that Zayn is the one who has his photo, or that he’s been looking for him. He cocks his eyebrows at Niall in a way he hopes Niall knows to interpret as ABORT MISSION NOW. (Either that or “I left the oven on at home.” They had started recycling symbols after a while.) 

Fortunately, Niall gets the message, nodding frantically and leaning over to whisper into Louis’ ear, who in turn whispers in Harry’s ear. 

“Hello?!” The photo boy steps into the room looking mildly agitated, “What’s going on? I saw you guys go down, is everyone okay?” 

The boy is stepping awfully close to where Zayn is lying, probably hoping to check for himself that no one is on their deathbed. Very thoughtful, Zayn thinks, and completely unnecessary for the hot mystery man to see him while he’s pretty sure he’s still got snot running down his nose and breath smelling of vomit. 

"Uh, this is,” Louis stands up quickly, “Liam, this is Zayn, a friend of mine. He’s got… what is wrong with you, actually?” 

“Food poisoning,” Niall says. 

“Food poisoning,” Zayn can tell Louis is internally groaning at Zayn’s poor life decisions, “Zayn, this is my roommate, Liam.” 

Somewhere inside, Zayn hopes that Louis appreciates this bit of horrible awkward theatre of coincidence that’s playing out in front of him. (A look over at him confirms that he is). Zayn, on the other hand, feels a bit like sinking into the bed he’s lying on, becoming one with the pillows, and never returning to this horrible, cruel world again. 

Niall seems to have a different take on the situation, guffawing loudly, “Oh shit! Didn’t know you were Lou’s roommate,” he says reaching out to clap the mystery man – Liam – on the shoulder congenially. Zayn shoots a look at Niall to say ‘I hope you’re enjoying this.’ To his credit, Niall manages to look a bit guilty. 

Liam leans in towards the bed, giving Zayn a genuinely sympathetic smile, “I hope you’re feeling better.” He leans back quickly though, averting his eyes from Zayn’s as quickly as he can, and Zayn feels like he’s swallowing a heavy weight, something settling in his throat. 

“Did you see someone threw up in the plant in the living room?” Liam says to Louis, “I’m tired of cleaning this stuff up, we need to stop having massive parties like this.” 

“Actually,” Zayn winces, “That was me. Got a bit sick before… you know. Passing out.” He doesn’t mention that this is the second time he’s puked in their flat. 

“Oh,” Liam’s face goes pink, “Sorry about. That.” 

They make eye contact again, and Zayn tries to summon that burning insistence, that insatiable curiosity that had made him want to know who the boy in the photo was in the first place. But he’s seeing him up close and personal and it’s… awkward. Awkward and weird and horrible, just like Louis had predicted. Zayn swallows, feeling guilty. He should have just let his fantasies stay that way, not try to force some kind of cosmic love story. 

Niall clears his throat, “Should, uh, I should probably get Zayn and me home. Just give us a second to clean up, sorry for the mess.” 

“No, don’t worry about it,” Harry reaches out to place a warm hand on top of Niall’s, “We’ll go clean up, you just take care of Zayn.” Niall looks a bit dumbfounded, but nods slowly, “This was fun!” Harry continues, “We should all get lunch some time!" 

With that, he heads out of the room, Louis not far behind him, “And don’t worry about the plant,” Louis stage-whispers to them, “Haz brought that over and we’ve been trying to figure out a polite way to tell him that everything I touch dies.” 

Zayn manages a laugh at that, stopping quickly when he sees Liam still standing at the end of the bed. He looks like he’s figuring out what he wants to say, finally running a hand through his hair and mumbling, “Probably shouldn’t come to a party if you’ve got food poisoning.” And that’s that. Liam nods, giving Zayn a tight-lipped smile, turns on his heel, and walks out of the room, hands in his pockets. 

Zayn wants to die. 

__

As far as first impressions go, Liam considers himself a pro. Charming people has always just been part of his life, a form of performance, if you will. And if Liam is one thing above all else, he is a performer. 

Which is why, for the life of him, he can’t understand why he just blew that so badly. Maybe it was being one of the only sober people at a particularly rowdy party, or that the start of classes was imminent, but Liam is pretty sure the fact that he just walked in on the most gorgeous person he’d ever seen lying, spread out, on Louis is bed, is the main reason his brain has apparently stopped working. 

They’re nearly done cleaning up the living room by the time Niall and Zayn leave, heading out the door with one hearty wave and one half-hearted wave, respectively. Liam feels this is the perfect time to air his grievances. 

“Was that guy even a human?!” Liam’s not sure he’s getting his point across, because Harry is just staring at him, “That guy!” He elaborates, waving an arm towards the door, “I’m not quite sure I wasn’t looking at a hologram. Like… what the fuck.” 

A slow smirk spreads across Harry’s face, “Ohh, yeah. That’s Zayn. I told you.” 

“Told me what?” Liam looks helpless, “You didn’t tell me you were friends with a freakin’… veela!” 

Louis perks up from his place on the couch, “You finally read _Harry Potter_!” 

"No, I just watched the movies,” Liam covers his face with his hand, “Whatever, I made a complete ass out of myself, I feel terrible.” 

“Liam, Liam, Liam,” Harry goes to prop his elbow up on the counter and misses, but Liam feels his judgment regardless, “Zayn’s the guy that I was going to set you up with!” 

To Harry’s surprise, this does not calm Liam down, “ _What?_ Harry I can’t… you though the best way to ease me into trying to date guys was to set me up with… with – “ 

“Possibly the most beautiful creature on the planet?” 

“A divine creature put here on Earth as punishment?” 

Harry and Louis are both looking at him knowingly, but Liam isn’t sure he’s ready for the amount of soul-searching they’re undoubtedly hoping he’s about to go through. Liam shakes his head, drops the broom he’s been attempting to sweep the carpet with (“I don’t think broom work on carpets, Liam,” Harry had said) and retreats to his room. 

By the time he’s lying down trying to nod off, he’s gotten a text message from Harry: just a single smiley face. 

Liam wants to die. 

__

It turns out that Harry really was serious about organizing a lunch outing for the five of them, which – well. Liam’s not sure he’s heard many worse ideas. 

That is, until he hear Harry’s full plan of action: Liam and Zayn will meet at the restaurant at noon, with Louis, Niall, and Harry not showing up until 1PM, making some excuse or another about being late. “You’ll have a chance to make a proper first impression,” Harry says, nodding, “Plus you wanted me to set you up with someone anyway, so.” 

“Yeah, what’s up with that?” Louis says, “I never got the full story on Liam going lax on his 100% straight policy.” 

Liam locks himself in his room for the better part of an hour before finally relenting to Harry’s plan – “Niall co-signed it and everything!” – and he’s finally sent on his way to the restaurant. Harry presses a Hello Kitty post-it note into his hand, reading: 

_Date Agenda:_  
1\. Make a charming first impression for Zayn.  
2\. Ask him about Niall, I think I fancy him a bit. 

_Now_ Liam’s confident that this is the worst idea he’s ever heard. 

When Liam actually sees Zayn, he nearly chokes. At the party his hair had been tied up, but now it’s down, parted on the side, and Liam makes a mental note to ask what kind of shampoo Zayn uses. Not being sick definitely suits him, but it’s fucking with Liam because if he thought Zayn looked good at the party, it’s nothing compared to how he looks now, mindlessly fiddling with the zipper on his leather jacket, long eyelashes brushing the tops of his cheekbones. Liam suddenly can’t remember if he put deodorant on. 

“Uh, hey! It’s me!” Great opener, Liam, really smooth, “Liam, um, Louis’ roommate. It’s good to see you… not being sick.” 

Zayn looks up and Liam’s pretty sure that Zayn naturally moves in slow motion. He blinks a couple times before smiling slightly, “Yeah, good to see you mate.” 

“Sorry about being a bit rude the other day,” Liam says, pulling out a chair and taking a seat, “I was just a bit tired, is all.” 

“No worries,” is all Zayn says, and from the look on his face it looks like the thought never even crossed his mind, “Do you think we should just order while we wait for the guys? I’m usually never the first one to arrive and I’m starving.” 

Liam had prepared a much more comprehensive apology, but he just nods, picking up a menu and passing one to Zayn. They talk a bit, order their lunches, and it’s all very casual. Too casual. The conversation comes easily but it’s all superfluous stuff – Zayn talks about his courses, Liam complains about his professors, they chat shit about the well-known weirdoes on campus and find out they have a few mutual friends. Liam suddenly wishes he could be more interesting, because before he knows it forty-five minutes have gone by and he’s not sure he’s said anything worth remembering. 

“So,” Liam checks his watch in a way he hopes isn’t rude, and remembers the second matter on his Harry-imposed agenda, “Niall’s quite cool!” 

“What?” 

“Uh, your roommate? I met him last night. Well, I mean, you obviously already knew that because you were there last night but. Just figured I’d say it, for storytelling sake I suppose, since I brought him up.” 

Luckily, Zayn is cracking a smile, “Yeah, he’s a legend. Although I might question his overall judgment skills since, like, he let me convince him to take me to the party while I was dead sick.” 

“Point taken,” Liam laughs a bit, although he was already a bit suspicious of Niall’s judgment, because the blond had mentioned that he once had a class with Harry, and called him ‘the smartest person he’d ever met.’ Liam could admit that Harry did possess a kind of folksy wisdom about him, but he didn’t know if he’d go that far. 

Still, he’d promised Harry he’d help him hook up with Niall. Even if he hadn’t really given him much to work with, “Hey, weird question,” Liam shoots Zayn an apologetic smile, “But Niall’s not seeing anyone, yeah? Does he usually date around?” Zayn visibly stiffens, and Liam feels a bit guilty, “Sorry I know that’s an odd question. I just thought, like, you’d know. As his roommate and such.” 

__Zayn takes an usually long sip of his water, clearing his throat a bit, “No, er. He doesn’t usually date around. Kind of… private. About that stuff, I guess.”_ _

__“Awesome,” Liam smiles, nodding to himself, and take a large bite of his sandwich, “Wait, actually, another weird question… is he into guys? Like, for dating purposes?” Probably not the best question to ask with his mouth full, Liam thinks._ _

__“He once referred to himself as an ‘all-inclusive lover’,” Zayn deadpans, picking at his fries, “So, yeah, I think you’re good.”_ _

__“That’s so funny, Harry says the same thing!”_ _

__“What do I always say?” Harry strolls up, pulling out a chair next to Liam and nearly giving him a heart attack. Louis and Niall aren’t far behind. They all have equally terrible excuses for being late – “I saw a cat up a tree and had to save it” is Liam’s personal favorite, and actually not too implausible, knowing Harry – but Zayn just shrugs, returning to his chicken sandwich.  
They’re already falling into a naturally chaotic conversation, all talking over each other. Liam tries to make eye contact with Zayn, to share a kind of exasperated smile, but Zayn looks away quickly, suddenly very interested in whatever Harry is saying. _ _

__Liam thinks his First Impression Part Two might not have gone as well as he wanted._ _

__

__Once they start finishing up their food, Harry and Liam excuse themselves to the bathroom (“Harry can’t go to the bathroom by himself,” Louis says, “He’s like a girl.”) and Niall and Louis immediately pin Zayn with equally accusatory looks._ _

__“How about it?” Louis asks, smirk playing on his face, at the same moment Niall says, “Do you love him or what?_ _

__A beat of silence and then, “No, don’t think so.”_ _

Niall cocks an eyebrow, “So… you _don’t_ fancy him?” 

__“I feel stupid for making a huge deal out of nothing, like. I want us to be friends. Preferably without him knowing I mooned over a shirtless picture of him like some… love-struck teenager.” And the weird part is, he isn’t lying. He likes Liam. He’s sweet and well fit, but Zayn doesn’t feel any pressing urgency around him. Not like when he used to look at the photo and wonder who it was, what they were doing. He just feels… normal. Peaceful._ _

__Besides, he feels a bit strange about the fact that Liam had asked about Niall – if he was dating anyone, if he liked boys. He remembers watching how easily they had got on at the party, and there’s a nagging voice in the back of his mind that tells him he’s right to be suspicious, right to be careful._ _

__“Liam actually did used to have some hardcore fangirls,” Louis says, grinning, “When he was on X Factor back in the day.”_ _

__“I almost auditioned once,” Zayn nods, “Too tired, though. Wasn’t about to get up at 4AM.”_ _

__When Zayn looks over at Niall, he looks dubious, not quite as convinced of Zayn’s apathy regarding Liam as Louis is. Zayn throws him a quick grin, but it isn’t until that night, after they’ve finished dinner and Niall’s putting away the freshly-dried dishes that he finally says, “It’s too bad Liam didn’t end up being the love of yer life or something. But at least we got some new friends.”_ _

__It’s true. After the lunch, they fall pretty easily into a routine._ _

Zayn’s never necessarily had a ‘core group’ of friends, preferring to keep his separate friends in their separate categories, always worried about them not getting along. But the five of them mesh nearly seamlessly, joking and bickering and staying surprisingly tolerant of each other’s’ oddities. (For the most part, at least. They start meeting for weekly lunches but discontinue the practice once Harry won’t stop making _Sex and the City_ references.) 

__But Zayn likes the boys – Harry’s proper ridiculous, completely unabashed in everything he does, which Zayn admires. Louis has always been a good smoking buddy, but Zayn’s happy to find that he’s just as hilarious sober. And Liam – he’s a bit of a wild card. They have a lot in common: they like the same music, the same comic books, the same movies. It’s not what Zayn was expecting at all, to feel so comfortable around him so quickly. Liam seems to adapt so quickly to Zayn, understands that sometimes Zayn just needs to be alone, but will be there in a second if Zayn texts him to hang out._ _

__And it’s easy enough for the five of them to all find themselves all together, considering that Louis and Liam’s apartment is on the way back from the Fine Arts building where Niall and Zayn have most of their classes, and Harry is almost always over for one reason or another. Most of the time they just sprawl out in the living room, but sometimes they’ll split off – Harry and Niall playing FIFA for hours, Louis badgering them about his favorite local teams, Zayn and Liam holed up in Liam’s room, pouring over Liam’s comic book collection. Liam even eventually concedes and lets Zayn and Louis light up out on the balcony. After that, it doesn’t take long to convince him to get high with them._ _

__“If you think about it,” Louis says to Liam, “I never would have met Zayn if you didn’t stop letting me smoke in the apartment.”_ _

__Zayn laughs, “So thank you for that, Liam,” he claps a hand on Liam’s shoulder, “Now I’ll never be rid of him.”_ _

__“I had to share the burden with someone,” Liam says, faux-serious._ _

__Liam’s not terribly high, but he’s got a good buzz going. He thinks he likes it, how everything is a bit fuzzy around the edges, and Louis is particularly monstrous when he’s high, but Liam quickly discovers that if he’s high as well, it’s all just hilarious._ _

__Zayn’s very talkative when he’s high, which Liam thinks is adorable. Actually, if he’s being honest, Liam thinks everything Zayn does is adorable. Just the other day, he had finally convinced Zayn to show him his sketchbook, and Zayn had sat next to him on the couch with his back straight as an arrow, eyes darting around the apartment like he wasn’t sure where to focus._ _

“These are _sick_ ,” Liam had said in earnest, and the smile on Zayn’s face was probably the best thing Liam’s ever seen. Since then Zayn had made a habit of showing Liam what he was working on – his sketches, his stories, projects for class. 

__It was so easy to get caught up in Zayn, Liam thought. He had begged Harry not to try to force the two of them on any more secret dates, for the sake of no more awkwardness in the group, but the more he hung out with Zayn, the more Liam thought that Harry might have had the right idea trying to set them up._ _

__“Okay boys, I’m off. Got some important business to take care of.”_ _

__“What’s that?” Zayn asks, eyeing Louis._ _

Liam snorts, “He’s got to watch _Celebrity Big Brother_.” Zayn laughs at that, a giggle that kind of turns into a hiccup. Liam feels aggressively fond of him. 

“It is _serious business_ ,” Louis says, matter-of-factly, “My Twitter following depends on my livetweets.” He makes his leave while Zayn and Liam continue giggling. 

__Being alone with Zayn isn’t exactly unusual for Liam these days, but being alone with him while weed is blurring the barriers in his brain that keep him from saying and doing things that he probably shouldn’t – like telling Zayn how good he looks in this lighting, the moonlight bouncing off his cheekbones in a way that softens his face, or reaching out to run his thumb across Zayn’s freshly shaved jaw._ _

__“Hey,” Zayn says, jolting Liam out of his own thoughts, “Just realized I don’t even know what you’re studying.”_ _

__“Business,” Liam says quickly, clearing his throat._ _

__“Really?”_ _

__“Yep,” Liam says, popping his lips around the word, “I wanted to do music at first, and my parents were actually supportive but… I dunno.”_ _

__“Why not, then?” Zayn says, frowning._ _

__“I guess business just seemed more practical?” It sounds stupid now that Liam’s said it out loud, and he realizes that he’s never actually talked to anyone about it, not even his parents, “I guess it’s too late to change now, right?”_ _

__Zayn smiles slowly, leaning against the railing of the balcony, “Probably. But you’ll still be successful.”_ _

__“You think so?”_ _

__“Deffo,” Zayn flashes him a grin, scrunching his nose up and baring his teeth, “You’re just one of those guys, yeah? Like, no matter what you want to do, you’ll do well. Just cause you care.”  
A buzz rises up through Liam’s whole body, a kind of adrenaline humming through him that he knows has nothing to do with the weed and everything do with just being next to Zayn, “Thanks.” He mumbles quietly, nudging Zayn with his shoulder. Zayn nudges him back and they stay like that, flush against each other, watching the drunk students down on the street stumbling home. Eventually they’ll head back inside, probably fall asleep watching some shitty documentary on Netflix, continue their mocking of Louis, maybe order some takeout. But Liam thinks that he wouldn’t mind if they just stayed like this for the rest of the night._ _

__

__**+** _ _

___ _

__**October** _ _

__Harry’s never considered himself to be a subtle man. Mysterious? Maybe. Confusing? Absolutely. But never subtle._ _

__Something about Niall kind of fucks him up, though. For such a loud, outgoing guy, Niall is still a bit closed-off, playing his cards quite close to his chest. Which means that no matter the number of public dick taps or cheeky grins, Harry can never really get a reaction out of him. He kind of hates it. And it only makes him like Niall more._ _

“You’re _sure_ you don’t like Liam? Like, _like_ like?” Since he’s not getting anywhere trying to manipulate his own love life, Harry takes it upon himself to meddle in Zayn’s. And he’s not letting this Zayn-Liam dream of his die. Mostly because he’s running out of friends to set up with each other. 

__“Say like again,” Zayn gives Harry a grin that isn’t returned. This might be the fiftieth time Harry’s asked him this, “Nope, I don’t. He’s awesome, but I don’t like him like that.”_ _

__They’re at the bookstore, picking out a new sketch book for Zayn and a new journal for Harry. “What about Niall?” Harry says, faux-casual, “He’s not seeing anyone, right?”_ _

__Harry’s not quite sure why he doesn’t want to tell Zayn that he’s into Niall. Maybe it’s because their friendship is still new, and he doesn’t want to mess it up by sending Zayn on romantic missions for him (that’s Liam’s job, anyway). But more likely it’s because Harry’s still so unsure if Niall likes him or not. He’s not used to that, to being the vulnerable and unsure party, and he’s not exactly briefed on the protocol._ _

__So when Zayn just nods, Harry decides not to push the matter, and the two of them part ways after paying their respective purchases. Harry’s still bothered by it though, the entire thing, which is probably why he doesn’t notice that it’s started raining, and why he’s caught particularly off-guard when he slips on a wet metal grate, tumbling down particularly gracelessly and landing soundly on his back._ _

__“Oi, you okay?” Niall’s voice is the next thing he hears, because of course. Of course Niall would be the one to witness this. Harry deserves this, he thinks. This is what he gets for trying to meddle._ _

__Harry’s done a spectacular job at sprawling himself across the entire width of the sidewalk, other students impassively stepping over his outstretched limbs without as much as a glance. Niall helps him up, chuckling a bit. Harry just smiles at him, eyeing the way Niall’s hair curls at the ends when it’s wet, plastered against the pale nape of his neck._ _

__“You okay to walk?” Niall asks, eyeing Harry’s ankle. Harry goes to say yes, only to find that when he presses down on it, his ankle screams in pain._ _

“Think it might be sprained,” Harry moans, “That was one of my more grandiose falls." “You do this often?” Niall says, propping Harry’s arm over shoulder and leading him along. “Fall? Oh, definitely. One of my major hobbies.” 

__Niall laughs, “Well let me wrap your ankle, at least, so you don’t hurt it any worse.”_ _

__“Probably a good idea,” Harry says, voice a big gruff. Zayn and Niall’s place is a quick walk from the bookstore, and Harry happily lets Niall lead him there, relishing the feel of Niall’s arm wrapped around his waist, his palm warming the space right under Harry’s ribcage._ _

__The flat is empty when they get there, and Niall makes quick work of providing Harry with a glass of water and some pain pills, “Used to sprain me ankle all the time horsin’ around the neighborhood,” He says, propping Harry’s foot up on a pillow, “Can ye roll up your jeans a bit? I’m just gonna grab the bandages.”_ _

__“Uh,” Harry watches him head to the hallway and stares down at his own jeans accusatorily. Every joke Liam’s ever made about the tightness of Harry’s pants flashes before his eyes – his jeans are too tight to roll up, and the dampness from the rain is definitely not helping. This is a goldmine of mocking, and Harry almost can’t believe himself when he just sighs in resignation, pulling his pants completely off. He is really becoming just a parody of himself, at this point._ _

__To his credit, Niall doesn’t look alarmed to have a trouser-less Harry lying on his couch. He just raises an eyebrow, mumbles, “I guess that works too,” and sets about wrapping Harry’s ankle with careful hands._ _

__As far as romantic comedy film plots goes, Harry’s already kind of run the gambit. He’s been someone’s fake fiancé, he’s had a dubious and brief affair with a professor, he’s done the star-crossed lovers thing and the tragic long-distance thing, but it’s never really amounted to much. Harry’s never done the slow-burn, friends-to-lovers bit, though. He’s not really well-versed in pining, simply because when he likes someone, he tells them, straight-out. That’s just how he’s always been._ _

__“There ya go,” Niall pats Harry’s knee, “Just take it easy for a little bit. And don’t, you know, trip again or somethin’.”_ _

__“That’s a tall order for me,” Harry says seriously. Niall laughs and Harry loves how it sounds exactly like a laugh should sound, a loud and bright literal “HA HA HA” that makes Harry grin so wide his face dimples on both sides._ _

__“Oh,” Niall reaches behind him and grabs the journal Harry picked at the bookstore, “I grabbed this earlier, you dropped it.”_ _

__“Shit, thank you. S’my new journal,” Harry says, “For all my serious, inner-most thoughts. And whatnot.”_ _

Niall grabs a pencil from the side table and grins up at Harry, “Well I’ll help you break it in.” He scrawls something, then shows it to Harry – _Niall rules._

__“You should’ve spelled it with a ‘z’,” Harry says, grinning._ _

__Niall nods, erasing the word and re-writing it, “Excellent point, Styles, excellent point,” He hands the journal to him, “There you have it. All ready for your most important thoughts. And in the meanwhile, we can watch whatever movie you want, since you’re in pain and all.”_ _

“ _Love, Actually!_ ” Harry practically yells, and Niall rolls his eyes, because Harry’s already made him watch it more than half a dozen times, and even bought a copy for Zayn and Niall to keep at their place (for the sake of romcom convenience), but he pops it in the DVD player anyway, and heads to make some popcorn. 

__Harry peers down at his journal curiously. He’s always liked to think of himself as an intellectual, someone smart and different and interesting. He’s spent a lot of time cultivating that image, jotting down his personal thoughts, untangling the web of his thoughts so that he might control it better. Everything he writes in his journal is always very scattered, a very particular kind of thought process. And, even so, he’s always very conscious of what he writes down._ _

But this… Harry looks down at the first page again – _Niall rulez._ He thinks this is just fine. 

__

__“Where’re you headed?”_ _

__“Just out,” Niall says, adjusting his tie, “Probably gonna grab dinner with a friend.”_ _

__It’s the fourth night in a row that Niall’s gone out, and Zayn’s getting more than suspicious. First: he never invites Zayn, or mentions inviting any of the other boys. Second: he’s wearing a fucking tie._ _

When he passes, Zayn even gets a whiff of cologne, and he’s always known Niall could clean up nice, but the question is _why._ And _for whom?_

Once Niall finally heads out, Zayn decides to break out the pint of Ben and Jerry’s in the freezer and watch whatever movie’s been left in the DVD player. (It’s _Love, Actually_ , and Harry’s already made Zayn watch it multiple times, but he’s too lazy to change it now.) 

__Truthfully, Zayn’s always had a bit of a thing for conspiracy theories. Only for the dramatics of it, the incredible narrative maneuvering people have to go through to reach their own pre-determined conclusions. He has watched a startling number of conspiracy theory documentaries on Netflix, but he’s not one of those people – Zayn is smart, he’s intuitive, and he’s positive that two of his friends are boning behind his back._ _

__Liam and Niall must be secretly dating. Zayn knows it, he just knows it! It’s got to be why Liam asked so much about Niall during that first lunch get-together, and why Harry kept asking if Zayn was sure he didn’t like Liam. He basically gave them permission, and now Liam and Niall are free to shag as much as they’d like._ _

__He doesn’t want to say it out loud, though, not to Louis or Harry or even to himself, because he knows how ridiculous it sounds. The idea that two of his best friends could ever keep something this big from him is ludicrous – Niall’s mind may be a steel trap, but Liam can’t keep secrets for shit. And why would they? Does Zayn really seem so fragile to them that he wouldn’t be able to handle his best friend dating a guy he used to think he liked?_ _

__Even in his head it sound idiotic. So Zayn doesn’t say anything, and he tries to push it to the back of his mind. Because if he pauses long enough to really think about it, that means he’ll also have to think about why it bothers him so much._ _

Niall _had_ promised he wouldn’t keep any more secrets from Zayn (Liam and Niall go to a film together and don’t even ask any of the other boys to come) but Zayn kind of gets that he might be nervous about it (they take a baking class together and Zayn comes back to the apartment to see them having a flour fight) since he might be thinking Zayn wasn’t telling the truth about not being into Liam, (they go _shopping_ together and that’s just ridiculous, everyone knows Zayn is the best shopping partner) which isn’t fair, because Zayn _wasn’t_ lying, he really doesn’t like Liam like that, and he definitely doesn’t still fantasize about running his hand through the hair on Liam’s chest or biting at the birthmark on his neck— 

__“You seeing anyone new?” The next day Zayn and Niall run into Niall’s friend Ashton while on a coffee run and he nudges Niall in the ribs, raising his eyebrows. Zayn takes a long sip of his latte to cover the fact that he’s now very carefully watching Niall for his response._ _

__And Niall actually does look a bit bashful about it, “I dunno, mate, don’t wanna jinx it.”_ _

_Unbelievable!_ Zayn thinks, focusing all his energy on making his face seem as impassive as possible. He doesn’t ask Niall about it, though. Not after they leave the café, not that afternoon, not after dinner, and that night when he finally drags himself to bed, he figures it out, sleepiness loosening the rigidness of his thoughts. 

__He doesn’t want to know the answer. He doesn’t want concrete proof that Niall and Liam are actually dating, because he doesn’t want it to be true. Zayn presses a pillow over his face and groans into it quietly because he doesn’t want Liam to date Niall. He wants Liam to date him.  
In a bit of fantastic cosmic timing, Zayn looks down to at his phone to see that Liam’s texted him._ _

_hey i read online that its the Islamic new year so happy new yr!!!!_

__Liam’s followed up his text with a string of celebratory emojis, and Zayn feels so overwhelmed with fondness he think his heart might burst. He loves the image of Liam googling “Islamic holidays” and taking dutiful notes. He loves the image of teaching Liam about his faith, introducing him to his family, showing him where he grew up._ _

__(He can’t even pull the ‘I saw him first’ bit with Niall, because does it count if it was just a photo?)_ _

__Zayn sends a quick text back to Liam and falls back down on his bed with a pathetic whimper. He wasn’t lying about not fancying Liam, not back then. But it had snuck up on him. And now he’s feeling it like a ton of bricks in his stomach._ _

__Liam texts him back a goodnight selfie, and Zayn doesn’t sleep that night._ _

__

__**+** _ _

___ _

__**November** _ _

__The first time Zayn sleeps over at Liam and Louis’ apartment, Liam insists that he shares his bed with him, despite Zayn’s assertions that the couch will do just fine._ _

__“It’s not a couch, it’s a futon,” Liam says, pulling some extra pillows out of the hall closet, “And you and I both know that it’s shit.”_ _

__Zayn shrugs, “I can fall asleep anywhere, really.”_ _

__“Good,” Liam guides Zayn down the hall towards his room, “Then you won’t mind sleeping in my bed.”_ _

__Zayn wants to be able to read into it, but he knows Liam is just a nice guy. Too nice to let Zayn sleep on the lumpy futon. (But not too nice to offer to give Zayn the entire bed and sleep on the futon in his stead? Zayn wishes he could make his own brain shut up.)_ _

__“Much better, yeah?” Liam says, grinning over at Zayn once they get all situated, lying side-by-side, Zayn in some borrowed pajamas. It can’t get much more chaste than this, Zayn thinks, barring creating a pillow wall between them. Which is something he doesn’t exactly put past Liam._ _

__Zayn grunts in agreement, “Thanks for letting me borrow some sleep clothes, too.”_ _

__“No worries!” Liam says, “Almost forgot where I had them, honestly. I usually just sleep naked.” Zayn had been in the process of rolling over and going to sleep (or at least attempting to), but apparently Liam’s decided that he’s not going to let him go to bed without an awkward boner. Zayn hastily pulls the duvet up to cover his lap._ _

__“Didn’t used to, obviously,” Liam continues, gesturing to his Batman pajama bottoms, “But the first time Louis got me properly drunk I was too tired to bother, so I just slept naked. S’pretty comfortable, actually!”_ _

__Should probably say something, Zayn figures. “Always good to trust your drunk instincts.” He mumbles, throat a bit hoarse because his brain keeps sabotaging him with images of Liam naked in bed, sleep soft, heat radiating off his skin like a human comforter._ _

__Luckily, Liam just laughs, “I never used to get drunk, I had a weird kidney, you know? Used to only have one, so I didn’t drink. And then one day, went to the doctor – poof! I had two kidneys.”_ _

__“No way,” Zayn turns on his other side, and he breath hitches in his throat when he finds himself nearly nose-to-nose with Liam, who’s still on his back, but has his head turned towards Zayn, a smile playing on his lips, “It, uh,” What were they talking about? Kidneys? Why on Earth? “It just grew back? That’s impossible, mate.”_ _

__Liam grins, “No, I mean. It was always there, just all messed up. But then it fixed itself, I guess?”_ _

__Zayn lets out a puff of breath, “You’re weird,” he says, going to tickle Liam’s side, except his arm feels heavy with near-sleep and he ends up just letting his hand rest on Liam’s torso, right under his ribcage. And, after a few moments, he feels Liam rest a heavy hand on top of his own, letting out a pleased grumble._ _

__For some reason, Zayn’s conscience decides that this, of all times, is a good time to feel guilty about hiding the photo ordeal from Liam. Everyone else knows about it but Liam, and Zayn feels like some kind of emotional con artist who’s managed to trick his way into Liam’s life. He needs to tell him. He needs to be honest._ _

__“Liam—“_ _

__“Hey, that thing you said?” Liam rubs his thumb against the back of Zayn’s hand and Zayn immediately clams up, “You said ‘you’re weird.’ Were you the guy who passed out in my bed back in June? After the end-of-term party?”_ _

__Zayn cracks a grin at the memory, “Yeah, that was me. I actually had forgotten all about that.”  
Liam smiles down at him fondly, “Finally found that mystery guy, then. I was kind of curious about you.”_ _

__“How?” Zayn cocks an eyebrow._ _

__“I don’t know. You just seemed different, kind of cool. Or at least that’s what I thought at the time, when I was wasted.”_ _

__Zayn pinches the bit of Liam’s skin under his hand, and Liam laughs, recoiling a bit, but never removes his hand from on top of Zayn’s. He feels, not for the first time, the overwhelming need to just tell Liam everything, about the photo, his feelings, the real reason why he always feels a bit fidgeting around him, how being around Liam fills him with a strange burst of energy that he’s not used to. For a second, he feels washed over with anxiety – then Liam runs his thumb softly across the back of Zayn’s hand again._ _

__Unconsciously, Zayn’s entire body relaxes, and even his eyelids feel heavy. When he looks up, Liam’s eyes are closed, but he’s smiling._ _

__That’s how they fall asleep._ _

__

Louis  
_If you tweet one more drake lyric I’m going to personally come over there and smack you_

Liam  
_sorry….  
i dont think ur actually going to come over here though_

“You really do know me too well, Payno,” Louis says immediately once Liam picks up his phone, “It’s way too late for me to be properly dealing with your emo shit.” 

__It’s been a few weeks since Liam started acting like this, posting enigmatic quotes on his Twitter (often combined with low-light, low-quality selfies), and sighing deeply every chance he gets. He’s started slacking on his job of keeping the natural chaos of the apartment in check, and it’s desperately throwing off Louis’ equilibrium. Not to mention that it just sucks to see Liam sad._ _

__“Why’d you call me?”_ _

__“Because I don’t like texting lying down. My arms get all cramped.”_ _

__Liam lets out a long breath, “I’ll stop being sad on Twitter.”_ _

__“But then you’ll just keep being sad in real life, so. Just tell me what’s bothering you.”_ _

__If he’s being honest, Louis could probably guess what’s wrong with Liam, and it starts with a “G” and ends with “ay crisis.” Louis always figured Liam and Zayn would get along, but watching Liam’s long-suffering glances and pining doe eyes has been, well. Painful to say the least._ _

__“It’s Zayn,” Liam says very quickly._ _

__Louis laughs a bit, “That was a lot easier than I thought it was gonna be. I thought I was going to have to pry that out of you.”_ _

Liam laughs too, chuckling dryly, “Yeah, well. I have been listening to a lot of Drake lately. Getting, like, in tune with my emotions and stuff,” the sad part, Louis thinks, is that Liam probably isn’t even being ironic about that, “But, like, I was thinking about Sophia the other day, right? How I miss her and stuff, but mostly I just miss having someone to just… _be_ with, y’know?” 

__“And you think you wanna be with Zayn?”_ _

__“Yeah,” Liam says, so quietly Louis almost doesn’t hear him._ _

__Louis seen Liam pine after many girls in his time, but he’s never heard him be quite this open and raw about it, “And does that weird you out?”_ _

__“What?”  
Louis sighs, “That he’s a guy? And that you wanna be with him?”_ _

__“Oh,” Liam lets out a tiny laugh, “Not really… I guess I never really thought about that. I just like him because he’s so… Zayn. He’s always thinking about something, and he’s so goofy and funny sometimes, and he does this thing when he’s annoyed where—“_ _

“Alright, alright, if I wanted to hear you wax poetic I would’ve just stuck with your Twitter,” Louis groans, and Liam mumbles a small _sorry_ , “So what’s the issue then?” 

The noise Liam lets out sounds like that of a wounded animal, “He doesn’t like me back! He’s so hard to read, it’s like that time last semester when I had to read _Mrs Dalloway_ for class.” 

__“Christ, this is way below my pay grade” Louis pauses, sounding like he wants to say something, but thinks better of it, “Okay, I got your back, Payno. I know exactly what to do.”_ _

__Liam should have expected that part of Louis’ plan was to go to a bar._ _

__“Bars are the perfect place to have important conversations,” Louis says seriously, and Liam can’t actually tell if he’s joking. They’re picking out Liam’s outfit, and they’re running late, Niall, Harry, and Zayn already waiting for them, “Everyone’s happy, there’s alcohol, and it’s in public so if the person you’re talking to subscribes to any kind of social contract, then they’re not going to yell at you in front of a bunch of people.”_ _

__“So you want me to tell Zayn I like him… at a bar?”_ _

“No!” Louis throws a shirt at Liam, “ _I’m_ going to talk to him. See where he’s at regarding his interest in your dick.” 

__Liam spends the entire walk to the bar trying to talk Louis out of his plan, to no avail._ _

__

__Zayn, to his credit, figures out Louis’ plan right away._ _

__“I’m not going to talk about it,” Zayn says after the tenth time Louis asks him if he’s sure he doesn’t like Liam, “I already told you.”_ _

__Louis gives him a look like he doesn’t believe him, “I don’t believe you.”_ _

Zayn doesn’t necessarily blame him, the main reason being that Zayn is 100% lying. But still. He’s been trying especially hard to keep it a secret, the fact that he does has feelings for Liam. Zayn’s always been a romantic guy – the artist in him can’t _not_ be – but he also knows when to cut his losses. He might not quite be there, yet, but he’s got to start somewhere. 

__Louis’ still crowding him up against the bar, already tipsy off of two shots, and Zayn can see that Harry, Niall, and Liam are about to take the stage for karaoke. (The three of them are probably already sloshed as well – how was it, Zayn wondered, that literally all five of them were lightweights? Should that be statistically possible?)_ _

“Zaynie,” Louis whines, “I know you better than that. And I know Liam better than that.”  
“Don’t call me that,” Zayn bristles, because Liam was the person to coin that nickname, calling him it once when they were all drunk and crashing one of Perrie’s famously debauched parties. That had also been the night Zayn found Niall and Liam curled up and asleep on the couch in his flaat. Maybe Louis didn’t know Liam as well as he thought, or else he would know that something fishy was definitely going on between Liam and Niall. Or maybe he _did_ know that and was just trying to make sure Zayn didn’t have any residual feelings. Or _maybe_ – 

__“Jesus Christ, Zayn, you look like you’re about to have an aneurism.” Louis passes him a beer with an apologetic look._ _

__“What am I supposed to do, Louis?” Zayn says, very quietly, voice far-off. Louis doesn’t hear him at first, but when realization dawns on his face, Louis looks like he’s about to say something significant._ _

__What comes out instead is, “Go back to the hole you crawled out of, Grimshaw.”_ _

__“What—“ Zayn jerks his head up to see a tall, slender man crouching into their space with a leer._ _

__“You wound me, Louis,” the man drawls, “But I actually came to talk to your friend,” he turns to Zayn, “I think I picked up your photo. At Harry’s thing.”_ _

__Louis rolls his eyes, “Come off it, Nick, that line isn’t going to work.”_ _

__Zayn ignores Louis, “Really? Do you have it?”_ _

__“Lost it, unfortunately. But I remember it – you and a little blonde girl right? And of course, I wouldn’t forget a handsome face like yours,” Louis gags and Zayn gives him a withering look, but the man seems unaffected, “I’m Nick.”_ _

__He might as well shake his hand, “Zayn.”_ _

__“Alright, Nick, you did your best but he’s not interested,” Louis attempts to shoo away._ _

__“Can’t I just compliment a lad on his looks without having ulterior motives?” Nick steps in closer to Louis, and Zayn can physically see Louis attempt to puff himself up to match Nick’s height. (It isn’t working, but the effort is precious.)_ _

__“Uh, no? When have you ever done anything without an ulterior motive?”_ _

__Zayn’s not keen to stay and witness the rest of this argument, mainly because the space between their bodies is closing in such that Zayn imagines they’re either going to break out into a full-on fist fight or just have sex right on the bar top._ _

__He scans the bar, but he doesn’t see Niall, Harry, or Liam, so Zayn opts to sneak out for a cigarette instead, lighting it with practiced hands and sighing deeply after the first drag._ _

__“Mind if I join you?”_ _

__“Fuck—“ Zayn nearly drops his fag, but when he looks up it’s just Liam, smiling meekly at him, hands in his pockets, “Uh, sure. If you really want to.” Liam just shrugs, so Zayn passes him a cig and lights it, watching a bit too carefully as Liam takes a drag, mouth looking too sweet and grapefruit-pink around the smoke as he exhales._ _

__They’re quiet for a while, and Zayn can almost physically feel some kind of barrier building up between them. It’s not right – Zayn’s more used to falling asleep with Liam in the same bed, feeling like he’s exactly where he’s supposed to be. But maybe that was what triggered it, the realization and the constant reminder that despite the fact that he was so, so close, he couldn’t always have what he wanted, that maybe he didn’t even deserve it._ _

__“Niall and Harry already went home,” Liam says, “Louis still inside?”_ _

__“Yeah. He and Nick were fighting or whatever, so I ducked out.”_ _

__Liam laughs under his breath, “They’ll be fighting till dawn. Looks like it’s just us, then.”  
Ordinarily, Zayn would invite Liam back to his flat, maybe put on a movie and fall asleep resting under the warmth of Liam’s arm wrapped around his shoulder. But he thinks he should probably start weaning himself off of those kind of comforts. He has too, if he ever wants to accept that Liam can’t be his._ _

__“I’ll probably turn in soon too,” Zayn says, finally, “Bit knackered. ‘S been a long week.”_ _

__The corners of Liam’s mouth turn down slightly, and he takes a long drag of his cigarette. Zayn is surprised when he doesn’t cough, just blows the smoke out through his nostrils, “Yeah. Guess I’m gonna head home,” he says. He hesitates, though, pausing in a way that looks like he wants to say something else, but instead he just opens and closes his mouth a few more times before stamping out his cigarette and giving Zayn a crisp wave before beginning the walk home. Zayn doesn’t wave back, just exhales slowly, biting at the cigarette smoke. He feels sick._ _

__Zayn could just walk back home as well, but he can’t bring himself to take the first. Instead, he heads back inside the bar, but Louis is nowhere to be found (and neither is Nick). He ends up just chain smoking a few more cigarettes before finally heading home. He’s tipsy enough that it takes him longer than usual to make the walk back to his dorm, but he makes it eventually, opening the door and shucking off his boots noisily. He winces, hoping he didn’t wake Niall up, but a second later it becomes very apparent that Niall is still awake._ _

“Oh, _fuck_ —yes,” A loud grunt comes out from Niall’s room, and Zayn’s eyebrows shoot up his forehead. He suddenly feels very, very sober. 

__It’s not the first time he’s come home to Niall having sex, so he recognizes the first voice as unmistakably Niall. The second voice though – “Niall – God! Fuck me, fuck!” – is equally familiar, and equally male._ _

__Redness blooms on Zayn’s chest, rushing up his face, and he might not have sobered up as much as he thought, because he immediately feels dizzy. He can’t exactly place the other voice, but it’s familiar enough, and in between the archetypal moaning and the creaking of the bed there’s a high whine, like it came from the back of someone’s throat and all Zayn can think is – Liam._ _

__It has to be Liam. And suddenly that’s all Zayn can imagine, Niall and Liam. Together. He feels sick again, although maybe he never started feeling better._ _

__Zayn, at the very least, realizes he has a few options: First, he could just leave. Go confront Louis about this whole thing, ask if he knows anything, or maybe Harry. Second, he could interrupt them—he vetoes this option before he can even properly think it through. He goes with the third option, rushing to his room as quietly as possible, closing and locking his door with a gentle click, and jamming on his most effective noise-blocking headphones._ _

__If he ignores the entire thing, maybe it will be like it doesn’t even exist._ _

__

__(Eventually, Zayn ventures to open his door just a bit, to see if Niall’s door is still closed. Niall and Liam are sitting at the end of Niall’s bed, playing video games with the volume muted, fighting sleep and both looking a bit haggard. Zayn immediately closes his door.)_ _

__

__**+** _ _

___ _

__**2 Hours Earlier**  
If Liam said this was the first time Harry texted him non-stop during foreplay, he would be lying._ _

_It's definitely about to go down, Liam._  
Actually, if I'm being honest, I'm kind of going down right now.  
If you know what I mean.  
;)

__Niall and Harry had been spending a lot more time together, Liam knew that. So once they left the bar together, hands in each other’s back pockets like a couple off a Christmas card, he figured tonight was the night._ _

__Once Liam makes it back to his room, the texts have already started pouring in, and it just makes him wish all the more that he had invited Zayn back to hang out, or that Zayn had invited him to stay at the bar and grab another drink. Sometimes it felt like their friendship ran out at midnight, or at least it had started feeling like that lately; like Zayn was afraid to be around Liam after dark._ _

__Harry manages, alarmingly, to continue texting Liam for a distressing amount of time through his and Niall’s first time. Eventually, though, the texts stop coming, and Liam is alone again._ _

__He unbuttons his shirt and heads out to the balcony for another smoke – he’d only starting smoking cigarettes after meeting Zayn, he realizes. And Liam knows it’s a bad habit, but it’s nice to have that, a visceral reminder that Zayn’s had an impact on his life._ _

__He rustles through his pockets trying to find his lighter, but feels something thin scratch against his fingers instead. When he pulls the offending item out he sees a familiar photo, of a handsome man, mid-laugh, smiling at a child out-of-focus in the front of the photo. It’s Zayn._ _

__“Fuck,” Liam groans, leaning against the railing and bringing the photo closer to his face. He had forgotten all about it, snatching it off of Nick at his early birthday party. At the time, he wasn’t even sure why he did it, but looking at the photo now – it’s completely different. Before, he had been looking at a stranger, someone far removed from his live. Now, he’s looking at someone he knows, someone he loves._ _

__Liam imagines it should probably be alarming, to realize so suddenly how in love he is with Zayn. But he’s not sure he’s ever been less surprised by anything in his life. It feels natural, like breathing, and it makes him feel as light as a balloon._ _

__“I need to tell him,” Liam says to no one in particular, abandoning his cigarettes and pulling his boots back on. He rushes out the door, almost forgetting to bring his keys, and then having to backtrack again when he forgets to actually lock the door. The walk to Zayn and Niall’s place usually takes him about ten minutes, but he gets there in less than five, opening the door without a second thought and running, quite literally, right into Harry._ _

__“Liam!” Harry chirps, eyes still a bit glassy and cheeks ruddy, steading himself against the doorframe, “Good to see you, mate.”_ _

__“Where are you going, is Niall still here? I thought you were, like, a cuddler?” Liam says, dumbfounded, all his adrenaline suddenly seeping out._ _

__“Got an early morning, I’m volunteering at the soup kitchen tomorrow,” Harry says. Of course he is, Liam thinks._ _

__“Later, babe!” Harry yells back toward Niall, before jogging off._ _

__When Liam finally steps inside their flat, Niall looks very smug, and equally mussed up, “Oi, you look a mess,” Niall says, gesturing to Liam’s wrongly-buttoned shirt and his face, which is probably beet red, “What’re you doing here?”_ _

__He almost tells Niall. How he’s painfully, desperately in love with Zayn, and how he essentially ran over here on autopilot, ready to proclaim his love. But now his adrenaline is all gone, and he’s starting to feel a bit silly about the whole thing, and he’s still not even sure if Zayn thinks of him as more than just a good friend, or if Zayn ever thinks of him at all._ _

__“Just, uh. Couldn’t sleep.”_ _

__Niall shrugs, “Well, Zayn’s already asleep, but we can chill.” Niall never says no to some beers and some video games, so they settle themselves in his room. Liam keeps sneaking peeks towards Zayn’s room across the hall, and he thinks he sees him for a second, but a second later the door shuts and Liam thinks he might have just imagined the whole thing._ _

__

_really??_

__The flat is quiet and it’s almost 5AM when Zayn texts Liam. He does it before he can think better of it, but he doesn’t know what he expects or what he even wants. Really, he doesn’t even want to talk to Liam, because Zayn can’t even bring himself to be mad, not at Liam and even at Niall. Zayn had told Niall that he wasn’t interested in Liam, after all._ _

_?? what s up_

__Zayn knows that Liam’s already left, but the texts back almost immediately, because Liam is always the only other person up at 3AM, 4AM, 5AM, when Zayn needs someone to talk to. Except now Zayn’s not sure what he wants, and he’s already run out of steam, filing through feeling angry, embarrassed, and put-out all within the span of five minutes. Now, he just feels empty._ _

__This was never supposed to become what it did, Zayn thinks. This photo thing was supposed to give him a bit of fuel for his creative writing, a bit of real-world inspiration to pin up on his bulletin board and glance at every now and again. But somehow he had managed to mess up even the simple task of pulling a photo out of a basket. This what he got for overthinking it, and it wasn’t inspiring or artistic or poetic at all._ _

Zayn’s been struggling to fall asleep all night, but he finally starts feeling weariness tug at his eyelids. He made his bed, and he supposes he might as well lie in it. There’s really nothing else to do, Zayn reasons, texting Liam back before he falls asleep.

_never mind  
i had the wrong person_


	3. Lamenting on a Birthday

**December**

Liam tries everything. Well. _Almost_ everything.

He brings Zayn coffee and snacks while he works on his final papers, spends inordinate amounts of time in Zayn and Niall’s living room, eventually giving up and retreating to Niall’s room to play video games when Zayn won’t come out of his own room for hours on end. He queues up all of Zayn’s favorite movies on Netflix and they have an all-day movie marathon, but Zayn falls asleep. (That’s not the strange part; the strange part is that Zayn falls asleep with his head propped against the arm rest, rather than against Liam’s shoulder, like usual.) He invites Zayn out for coffee, for mini golf, for real-sized golf, for paintball, for anything, but there’s always some excuse, some reason why Zayn can’t come. He makes plans to get a new tattoo and invites Zayn along, since Zayn can never resist tattoos. (Liam doesn’t understand why Louis insists that tribal tattoos are douchey.) (He cancels the tattoo appointment the next day.)

The one thing Liam hasn’t done is straight-out ask Zayn why he’s ignoring him. Except isn’t not quite ignoring – they still hang out, they still talk. But it’s not like how it used to be, back when they saw each other every day, when it felt like something was missing if they weren’t together. He misses Zayn – of course he does – but it’s not just that he really likes Zayn and wants to take him out on expensive dates and kiss him under the moonlight and all that. It’s also that he just misses his best friend, the person who would lounge with him for hours doing nothing. The person who he can talk about anything with, who never teases him about anything, not his problems or his insecurities or his irrational fear of spoons.

Liam’s not quite the best with words, because he’s not sure how to explain how he’s feeling. He remembers how Louis once described falling in love as ‘trying to run up a down escalator.’ He gets it, but Liam’s also not sure he’s that cynical about it yet. And sometimes, to be honest, he likes to feel the burn.

“It’s like,” Liam invites Harry over, because no one is more optimistic about love than Harry. He tries to think of a better way to describe it, “One step forward, two steps back.”

Harry’s quick to talk but slow to actually get the words out, “Well, that’s… not too bad. If you’re going one step forward and two steps back, then you’re still going somewhere, yeah?”  
“In the wrong direction!”

“No, just a different direction,” Harry levels him with a poignant stare, “There isn’t just _one_ direction.”

Liam waits for Harry’s word to sink in – sometimes he needs a minute – but he’s still not quite sure he’s getting it. What he wants is for Zayn to want him, for him to realize how much Liam cares about him. But he always seems to be pushing back. Liam can hardly remember the last time they got to be alone together, hang out just the two of them. He misses the fluttery feeling in his stomach, and the kind of jittery excitement he gets from being around Zayn, but he also just misses just being with someone, without worrying about keeping up appearances or filling empty space with forced conversation.

“Look, like, you miss hanging with him,” Harry says, reading Liam’s mind in the way he always does, “But maybe he thinks you’re just trying to be a good friend. And maybe he doesn’t want to be your _friend._ ”

Once it’s been laid out, Liam understands instantly. And his excitement at the idea that Zayn might honestly like him, might actually want to be with him, is almost overshadowed by the idea that he’s out there thinking that Liam does feel the same. That Liam is just trying to do his due diligence as a _good friend._ Liam doesn’t know if he can go another second letting Zayn think that.

He pulls Harry in for a quick hug, “Thanks, Haz. You can be quite wise sometimes, you know.”  
Harry spreads his arms out like some kind of benevolent prophet, “Love will lift us up where we belong.”

 

It’s been a rough couple weeks at the Casa de Horan-Malik. Zayn doesn’t want to admit that he’s been avoiding Niall, but he’s definitely been avoiding Niall. He wants to think that he’s made peace with the whole situation, but seeing Liam or Niall – it just _hurts._ And the worst part is that he’s not even mad at them, he’s just upset with himself for lying about his feelings.

But Zayn’s gotten practiced at dodging said feelings, and apparently he’s gotten very good at dodging Niall, because they haven’t had a proper conversation in weeks. Zayn thinks he might be in the clear until he comes home the night before Louis’ birthday party to find Niall waiting for him, dinner spread prepared, two places set at the table.

“Thought we’d have dinner,” Niall says, steering Zayn to his chair, “It’s been a while!”

Fuck Niall for being an amazing cook. Zayn knows he’s about to have an uncomfortable conversation, but his mouth is watering and he might as well get it over with.

They eat in silence for a bit before Niall finally clears his throat, “Look, I know I promised no more secrets. And I feel like shit, because I’ve been keeping something from you because I’m not quite ready for everyone to know. But I think you should know.” He pauses (for effect, Zayn presumes) before saying, “I’m kind of seeing someone.”

There’s barely a beat of silence, “I know,” Zayn wants to hit himself.

“You do?”

“Yeah,” Zayn croaks out, “You’ve been going out a lot, dressing up, all that stuff.”

“Do you know—“

“I know who it is,” he finally makes eye contact with Niall, who looks vaguely pained, “It’s fine. I know who it is and I’m really happy for you. Honestly.”

Niall looks like he’s just had the weight of the world lifted off his shoulders, “Holy shit, I’m so glad. I still don’t want everyone to know, you know, I’m pretty private about this stuff. But it makes me really happy to know you’re happy for us. You’re the best, Zayn.”

The whole conversation is over so quickly that Zayn barely has time to catalogue his own feelings. But there isn’t much to take stock of, in all honesty. Zayn just feels empty, like cavernous space has opened up inside his chest. By all accounts, Zayn imagines he should probably be mad at Niall. But he isn’t. Niall is the best friend he could ask for, because he’s always honest, always. And Zayn hates lying to him like this.

“You excited for Louis’ party tomorrow?”

“Yep,” Zayn lies again. At this point, he might as well keep on with it.

 

Liam’s never been sure whether to classify himself as spontaneous or inhibited. He thinks he must fall somewhere in the middle, though, once he decides that it’s probably better not to confront Zayn to talk about his feelings _right at this very moment._ He decides – after Harry talks him down for a bit – to wait until the party. It’s the last time they’ll all be together, everyone will be having a good time, and holiday starts the next day, just in case Zayn needs some time to think once Liam’s said his piece. 

Beyond that, though, Liam makes no plans, no specifically chartered course he hopes will lead him to Zayn’s heart. Which is the beginning of his problem.

Liam, so good with intentions but so bad with delivery, can’t seem to say anything properly. “Talk to him,” Harry insists, watching Liam flounder around the party like a moony schoolgirl, but Liam’s just no good with words, not when Zayn’s around.

It doesn’t help that they’re an hour and a half into Louis’ birthday extravaganza and Zayn is keeping his careful distance from Liam, carefully skirting the perimeter of the party. Liam brings him drinks and snacks like some kind of golden retriever/party assistant, laughs what might be a bit too loudly at Zayn’s jokes, and keeps seeking him out during the party, trying to catch his eye. By the time he actually manages to rope Zayn into being his partner in an overly-complicated drinking game of Niall’s own invention, Zayn feels farther away than ever, even when he’s sitting right next to him.

Niall’s about ten minutes into describing the instructions when Louis groans in frustration, “This game is shit, Niall, why’d you have to make it so complicated!”

“I like it!” Harry says, beaming at Niall, who, god bless him, never really takes anything personally.

Liam nods his support, though he’s not sure he really understands the rules either, “It’s really cool, Niall. I feel like we never give you enough credit for how clever you are.”

“This is why I love Liam the most,” Niall says, pointing at him with a grin, “And why he gets to go first.”

And, to Niall’s credit, the game is pretty great, especially if the point of the game is to get everyone involved as pissed as possible. Niall and Perrie win, because of course they do, but Liam and Zayn come in a respectable second. (Louis and Jesy bicker the whole way through, and Harry bemoans his choice of Nick for a partner.) But Zayn doesn’t really crack much more than a slight grin, and as soon as the game is over, he bolts off, mumbling one excuse or another.

Louis pouts, looking every bit as put-off as Liam feels, “Oi, make sure he’s back soon, I’m about to make my birthday toast to myself!”

It’s Liam’s third year witnessing Louis’ birthday toast to himself, although it’s a bit more like a monologue. He claims not to take it seriously, but Liam knows better than that. “I’ll get him,” Liam says, bolting off after Zayn. He’s just coming out of the bathroom when Liam catches him, and he’s sure that the red rings around his eyes aren’t just from the spliff he and Louis had smoked before the party started, “Hey…” Liam mumbles, voice soft in a don’t-spook-the-animal kind of way, but Zayn seems to flinch away from him anyway, “You okay?”

“M’fine,” Zayn says, but it must be just on instinct, because he deflates a second later when Liam rests his hand on his shoulder, “No, sorry, I’m just a bit… out of it, I guess.”

On a couple instances, people have told Liam and Zayn that their eyes are the exact same shade of brown, deep and rich and unusually vibrant for brown eyes. Liam’s never really argued against it, but there are always times where he thinks that Zayn’s eyes must change color – sometimes they’re a dark rich brown, almost black, and sometimes they’re bright gold, like right now. “You have a freckle in your eye, you know.” He says, before he realizes it’s even coming out, “It’s quite cool.”

Zayn absentmindedly runs a hand across his own chest, “Yeah?” is all he says, looking up at Liam with the countenance of someone who’s not really sure how to catalogue how they feel.

Liam can relate, “Yeah.” He says softly, pulling Zayn in for a hug. The smaller boy doesn’t object, instead clinging to the front of his sweater desperately, with what Liam imagines must be white knuckles, like Liam’s the only thing holding him down. He rests his chin on top of Zayn’s head and feels Zayn hum contentedly against his chest. They stay like that for so long that they stop wondering how long they’ve been there.

(They miss Louis’ birthday speech.)

 

One by one, the partygoers drop off. Niall, still surprisingly sober, leaves with an apologetic goodbye sometime around 2AM, and Harry isn’t far after him. Louis and Stan are still doing shots in the kitchen by the time it hits half past 3AM, and Zayn’s still got a good buzz going, but he’s not sure he’s that committed to having a hangover.

“You can crash with me,” Liam says, when he catches Zayn eyeing the fading partyers crashing on the couch, “C’mon, it’s nearly four.”

“Shouldn’t we stay and help clean up?” Zayn betrays himself by yawning in the middle of his sentence, and Liam pats him fondly on the arm.

“I think us staying here is just making it worse,” he says, nodding to where Nick, of all people, is beginning to gather up trash, still drunkenly tripping over his own spidery limbs, “Might as well not make more of a mess, right?”

Zayn shrugs, “’Spose so.” He mumbles around another yawn, following Liam down the hall to his bedroom.

It used to be strange, Zayn thinks, the way they so wordlessly get ready for bed. It’s like they have their own routine – Zayn goes to pull the spare toothbrush that he’s claimed out of the cupboard only to realize that Liam’s already placed it out in the toothbrush holder next to his and Louis’.

“Figured you’d be spending the night.” Liam says, shrugging, a sheepish smile on his lips. Zayn nods a bit mechanically, trying not to think about how something as small as a toothbrush makes him feel like he’s floating six inches off the ground. (“Just like on Sex and the City!” he imagines Harry would say.)

They brush their teeth, Liam changes into his pajama bottoms, throwing a shirt over to Zayn for him to sleep in. It’s different than the one he usually wears when he sleeps over – Zayn mentally pauses to consider the fact that he has a _usual_ shirt of Liam’s that he sleeps in – a bit bigger, falling all the way down to the tops of his thighs. He suddenly feels completely surrounded, by Liam, by everything, and it makes his head spin. It’s all he can do to just fall down on the bed, face first, smothering the redness of his face in a pillow.

He feels hyper-aware of the quiet sounds of Liam putting his clothes away, turning the light off, cursing under his breath when he stubs his toe, eventually falling down on the bed next to Zayn.

After a while, he feels more than hears when Liam chuckles under his breath, “No pants?” he asks, gesturing to where Zayn is clad in just his boxer briefs. He pokes at the soft bit of Zayn’s thighs not covered by the oversized shirt.

“Too tired,” Zayn laughs, swatting Liam’s hand away, propping himself up on his elbow, “No shirt?” He makes a sweeping movement with his right hand towards Liam’s bare torso, and he really should be used to Liam’s abs by now, considering that he’s been carrying around a shirtless picture of him for nearly four months now, but seeing them up close and personal is, well. Another story entirely. Liam doesn’t say anything in response, just grins down at Zayn in a way Zayn figures should be illegal by now.

It’s quiet for a while, and Liam reaches a hand over to rub between Zayn’s shoulder blades in the way he must know Zayn likes when he’s knackered, “You look good in my shirt,” Liam mumbles, “It suits you.”

Zayn’s eyes fly open at that, and he goes to look at Liam’s face, but it’s nearly inscrutable, the only light in the room coming in from where Liam forgot to close the blinds.

But Liam must read Zayn’s confusion on his face, because he laughs under his breath, “Yeah, check it out. I got it when I went to the Iron Man movie premiere, it was the only size they had left,” Zayn props himself up on his forearms and peers down at the shirt, dark blue, with a fading Iron Man logo on the front, “It’s still my favorite, though,” Liam continues, “Reminds me of you.”

As far as gestures go, it’s not overtly romantic or even tremendously unusual, but for some reason it makes Zayn feel like he’s just been lying in the sun, warmed all over. All he wants to do is kiss Liam. It’s like he can’t believe he ever thought of doing anything else.

Zayn all but pounces forward, and so his first kiss with Liam is pretty messy, primarily because he can barely see a thing, and ends up catching just Liam’s top lip between his own. But within a split second he feels a large, warm hand on his cheek, a thumb pressing lightly against his jaw and re-adjusting them into a proper kiss. And this is exactly how Zayn had imagined it. He wraps his arms around Liam’s neck and allows himself to press more insistently against the plush, soft warmth of Liam’s lips, breath hitching and his mouth dropping open instinctively when Liam nibbles at Zayn’s bottom lip. His head is heavy with alcohol and sleepiness and when Zayn feels the drag of Liam’s tongue against his he feels a bit like his brain is short-circuiting.

Everything starts moving very quickly after that – Liam pulls at Zayn’s waist with a touch that makes Zayn shiver, and the smaller boy climbs into his lap, straddling Liam’s thighs, shucking off his shirt, grabbing at Liam’s hair. Liam grasps Zayn’s hips so firmly that Zayn starts to see stars, white spots clouding his vision.

Eventually Liam trails his hand up Zayn’s torso – stopping to brush a thumb against his nipple, which makes Zayn squirm – and back around to Zayn’s neck, where he grasps very firmly at the hair at the back of his head, pulling sharply.

Liam pulls away from the kiss with a rushed _I’m so sorry_ , at the same time that Zayn whines loudly, arching up against Liam’s lap in a way that suddenly makes it very, very hard to ignore their twin hard-ons, Liam’s a long, hard line trapped between their bodies, a spot that Zayn immediately sets about grinding against, in earnest.

Liam looks up at Zayn with a look of near-wonderment, and for a split-second Zayn imagines that he’s going to say something. About how this is wrong, about how he doesn’t like Zayn, about Niall. Instead, all the Liam says is, “Not tired anymore, are you?”

“No way,” Zayn says, after a quick bark of a laugh, “You – _uh!_ – you’ve definitely woken me up.”

Liam mumbles something that Zayn doesn’t catch, pulling at Zayn’s hip to bring him as close as possible, one hand grasping wantonly at the waistband of Zayn’s briefs, pulling them down just enough that the fabric pulls against his length, the head of his cock finally popping over the top, shiny with precum. Liam grins like he’s just hit the lottery.

“Don’t looks so smug,” Zayn whines, but he’s smiling.

He snakes a hand in between their bodies, bumping clumsily against Liam’s fingers. He finally grasps the waist of Liam’s joggers, pulling them down haphazardly, his fingers finding purchase against the head of Liam’s cock, “Shit… you’re so wet,” Zayn whimpers, a sound he’d be embarrassed about if Liam didn’t immediately echo it. Using Liam’s pre-come to slick his hand, Zayn slides up and down Liam’s length, occasionally running a finger around the edge of his foreskin, carefully cataloguing the hitch in Liam’s breath when he twists his hand just under the head. After a few pulls, Liam grasps the back of Zayn’s head, tugging him down into an open-mouthed kiss.

They stay like that for a while, just breathing into each other’s mouths, hot and heady, Liam looking up through his eyelashes at Zayn like he’s looking at some kind of rare and beautiful phenomenon. And Zayn’s always considered himself a romantic, but he thinks Liam definitely has him beat, because he’s never felt anything like the electric shock in his heart when Liam smiles gently at him, whispering out a breathless, “Hey.”

“Hey,” Zayn whispers back, and he’s stopped his ministrations on Liam’s dick, just content to trail his hand up Liam’s abs, scratching against the curly patch of hair on the middle of Liam’s chest. The window shades let in just enough light to color Liam in stripes of moonlight. Zayn remembers when this was just a dream, when all he had of Liam was just bits from a photo he had to imagine into a real person. And even then, it was nothing compared to the real thing—  
“F-Fuck!” Zayn’s caught off guard when Liam presses firmly against the small of Zayn’s back, driving his erection down to grind against Liam’s own, a delicious filthy drag.

Liam smirks before giving Zayn a kiss that is far too chaste considering the situation. He continues the trail of kisses around Zayn’s jaw, up his neck to where he nibbles the shell of his ear, breath hot, voice sounding absolutely wrecked, “Let me take care of you.”

And Zayn’s not going to argue with that, especially not when Liam pulls both of their lengths into his right hand, the massive spread of his fingers wanking them expertly.

“Jesus—“ Zayn collapses against Liam’s neck, sucking a mark right next to the birthmark that’s plagued his dreams for months and months.

He’s not going to last long now, and if the punched moans spilling from Liam’s lips are any indication, Liam isn’t going to last either. Everything in Zayn’s mind is just miles and miles of fog and haze and _Liam, Liam Liam._ He’s only duly aware of how he’s chanting Liam’s name quietly, like a prayer, as he gets closer to the edge, and Liam’s strokes get sloppier and sloppier. Zayn feels Liam’s free hand trailing down his back again, sneaking down towards his arse, and when Liam drags a finger against the dry rim of Zayn’s hole, Zayn’s entire brain goes blank, and he comes with a choked off moan, cum shooting onto Liam’s stomach, some dribbling down Liam’s hand onto his cock.

Liam’s not far behind, continuing to wank them through Zayn’s aftershocks, using Zayn’s come to lubricate his swift strokes. He finally comes with a quick grunt, biting at Zayn’s collarbone.

After, they lie there for a while – much longer than Zayn usually does after sex. He feels boneless and blissed out, rolling off of Liam but keeping his head tucked against the younger man’s chest. But because Liam is the eternal gentleman, he eventually gets up, fetching a flannel and cleaning both of them up, pausing only to shoot Zayn a conspiratorial wink. 

Zayn loves the fact that Liam can’t wink properly. He loves the fact that he keeps trying anyway. He loves Liam.

He loves Liam and he wants to tell him, but the words get caught in his throat and his eyelids are drooping and his entire body feels like it’s floating two feet above the bed. Zayn thinks Liam must want to say something too – they should, shouldn’t they? They should talk? – because when Liam climbs back into bed, he pauses before closing his eyes, just running a thumb softly across the bite mark he’s left on Zayn’s collarbone.

Neither of them say anything, though. It feels as easy as breathing when they fall asleep facing each other, Liam’s hand still resting gently against Zayn’s chest.

 

_In the morning, everything looks faded, hazy, like there’s a fog pressing down on every corner of the room. The empty thud in Zayn’s head finds its partner in the empty, aching feeling in the pit of his stomach. When he rolls over, Liam’s not there in the bed next to him, just a blank, empty space instead. The sheets are cold under his fingers. Everything around him looks just a bit off, and it might be his impending hangover or it might be that everything is wrong. Or maybe it’s not that everything around him is out of place, but that_ he’s _the one that’s out of place. Either way, it all seems to say one thing: it was a mistake, it was a mistake, it was a mistake—_

Or. At least that’s what Zayn expects when he wakes up. He writes a small novel in his head before actually waking up, going over everything in his mind, laying completely still. If he just doesn’t move, then he can decide what is and is not true. That’s the rule.

But when he opens his eyes… there’s nothing wrong. No oncoming hangover hammering at the inside of his head, no weighty fog settling over the room, making everything look crooked and out of place. Everything is the same as it’s always been – Liam’s pile of comic books in the corner, the bottles of water on the side table, the protein power that Zayn always teased him for still peeking out from his desk drawer.

And when Zayn rolls over, Liam is there, sleeping on his stomach, arms tucked under his pillow. He’s smiling in his sleep, because no one else but Liam can find joy in every aspect of life, including sleep. Liam makes a small, sleepy sound, and Zayn almost laughs, a bit nervous, a bit manic. Like he can’t believe what he gets to wake up to.

It all feels so… normal. If he wanted to, Zayn could just watch Liam sleep for a bit, probably fall back asleep himself, curling closer to Liam under the guise of seeking warmth. Liam would probably wake him up gently, the way he always does, hand running softly through the scruff on Zayn’s chin. He’d probably make Zayn breakfast, maybe they’d watch a movie or play video games. And everything else would just come naturally to them, the same way it always had.

It’s while he’s imagining this, his ideal day, that Zayn hears Liam’s text tone ding, a soft blue light coming up from the floor on the other side of the bed, where he’d probably placed his mobile on the side table. Without meaning too, Zayn thinks automatically that it must be Niall.

He feels sick. He needs to get out of there – he stumbles out of the bed, going to pull on his clothes as quickly as possible – he needs to get out of this room, this apartment, his own skin, if possible. How could he forget – Liam isn’t his. Liam never was his.

It takes Zayn a second to remember that the shirt he had been wearing late last night was Liam’s, and he rips it off like it’s made of fire. Eventually he finds his own sad, stained shirt, discarded in a corner of the room. He pulls it on, along with his pants, and snatches his wallet and phone off the table.

The tears pricking at his eyes blur his vision as he looks back at Liam, somehow still peacefully asleep, the stark white of the comforter and the fading tan of Liam’s skin swimming in front of him. Zayn hopes that Liam doesn’t beat himself up about cheating on Niall, but he knows he will. Liam’s too good. Zayn wishes he could be that good, wishes he could be above coming on to his best friend’s boyfriend, coveting what he’s not supposed to have.

Should he leave a note or not? Zayn wavers for a second, wonders if he should leave an apology, but there’s too much he needs to apologize for. At least, more than could fit on a sticky note. Maybe he could leave the photo of Liam on the bed, where he slept. Some kind of quiet admission, an explanation for why Zayn let things go too far. That would be poetic – right? Or crazy? No?

Liam turns over in his sleep, eyes still closed, but it spooks Zayn enough to get him to finally leave, pulling his shoes on and heading to sneak out the front door. The living room, as Liam had predicted, is still a complete mess, barely an inch of the floor visible. _Might as well not make more of a mess, right?_ Zayn remembers Liam’s words a bit bitterly. Leave it to him to make an even bigger mess of things.

When he gets home, the flat is quiet, everything still perfectly in place just as he and Niall had left things. Nothing has shifted, but Zayn feels like everything has changed around him. Luckily, Niall isn’t home, but Zayn feels his presence everywhere – in the freshly cleaned shine of the countertops, the acoustic guitar left on the couch, the Eagles records stacked neatly next to the record player. Guilt washes over him so swiftly that he feels like he might boot, and he nearly sprints to his bedroom, towards the comfort of his own belongings, his own space.

Eventually, he’ll call Niall, talk to him, about what, he’s not sure. But for now Zayn just pulls the shades down in his room, falls on the bed, and lets sleep claim him.

(The bed is, of course, much colder without Liam.)

 

After months of being convinced that Harry doesn’t actually have a room of his own, Niall finally sees it with his own eyes the morning after he spends the night for the first time.

“And this guy is your real-life roommate?” He asks, jerking his thumb towards the red-headed man in the kitchen.

“Yeah, that’s Ed.” Harry says, stuffing a biscuit in his mouth, “He’s awesome.”

“Does he know that we’re…”

“Yep.” Ed says, winking at Niall, before returning to his omelet.

“I’m sorry,” Harry moans, “I forgot we’re not supposed to tell anyone yet.”

Niall has been feeling guilty about making Harry keep their real relationship private, so he sits next to him and runs a hand up and down his thigh, “Don’t worry about it. Actually, Zayn knows too. I didn’t even have to tell him,” he laughs, “And Liam already knows… We should probably tell Louis soon so he doesn’t give us shit about being the last to know. And then… I dunno. Might as well make it official.”

Harry’s face lights up, “Really?”

“Yeah of course, Haz. I really care about you. And I want people to know.”

The smile that Harry gives him looks like it could generate enough electricity to power a small town, and right when Niall feels a bit like he’s about to drop those three little words, his phone lights up, and it’s Zayn. He gives Harry an apologetic look before picking up, “What’s up?”

“I just wanted to say goodbye and Happy Christmas and everything,” Zayn says, words coming out frantically, “I’m heading out early so I probably won’t see you. I’m really sorry,” he almost sounds choked up, “Shit, I’m so sorry Niall.”

“Oi, oi, Zayn, it’s okay, just have a good holiday, okay?”

Zayn is still babbling about something when Niall sees Harry get a call. _Liam,_ he mouths, moving away to answer it.

“Zayn, give your mum and the rest of your fam love from me,” Niall says, “I hope everything’s alright.” He’s never heard Zayn this frazzled and he barely gets the words out before Zayn is saying another quick goodbye and hanging up. He’s about to launch a full investigation about the source of Zayn’s odd behavior, but as soon as the call ends, Niall gets another one, this time from Louis.

“Louis! Just the guy I wanted to talk to! Do you know that the hell is up with Zayn?”

“Uh, yeah,” Louis deadpans, “He and Liam fucked and then he left and Liam is freaking the fuck out.”

“Shit…” Niall sucks in a long breath, looking over at Harry and wincing, “Harry’s on the phone with him right now, is it really bad?” The question kind of answer itself, because Harry’s holding the phone about six inches away from his head, and Niall can still hear Liam ranting in the background, sounding confused, upset, angry, and sad all at once, “Look, hold on, I’m going to put you on speaker.”

“What happened?” Harry says, cover the speaker of his phone with his hand, “Liam tried to explain but now he’s just reciting the lyrics of ‘Doing it Wrong’.”

“He and Zayn hooked up,” Louis says, his voice coming through the speaker muffled, “But Zayn left before he woke up and he’s not returning any of Liam’s calls or texts.”

“I thought Zayn liked him!”

Louis sighs, “I don’t know, I could never get a straight answer out of him about it.”

“Me neither,” Niall says, “But I know Zayn, and he wouldn’t purposely try to hurt Liam. I know he cares about him.”

They start talking over each other; Louis attempts to calm Liam down in person, with Harry talking him down over the phone. Niall borrows Ed’s phone and tries to call Zayn, to no avail. It doesn’t make sense to him, not under any circumstances – Niall knows Zayn had said he didn’t like Liam, but that was months ago, and he knows things have changed. He just knows.

“What is it so bloody loud for?”

The entire conversation halts when Niall hears another voice coming through the speaker phone, much deeper than Louis of Liam’s voice.

“ _Jesus,_ ” Louis hisses, “Nick, go the fuck home.”

_Nick?!_ Harry mouths to Niall, who almost wants to laugh at how terrible this entire situation has become.

“What’s Nick doing there, Louis?” Niall asks, at the same moment that Harry says, “Get in, Nick!”

“Oh. Morning, Niall. Harold.” Nick says, sounding smug. (To be fair, Niall thinks, there aren’t many times when Nick _doesn’t_ sound smug.)

“Listen—fuck. Okay, I’m just going to—“ there’s the sound of Louis’ voice retreating from the room, and Niall surmises that he’s left his phone with Liam and has set about shuffling Nick away. Harry dutifully picks up Niall’s phone, holding it up to his right ear, his own phone held against his left ear, presumably so he can hear Liam’s emotional groaning through both ears. Niall spares a glance toward Ed, still calmly eating his omelet at the kitchen table, looking at them like he’s watching some kind of interesting reality program.

“Happy birthday, Lou,” Harry says, weakly.

 

**+**

**January**

All in the world Liam wants to do is talk to Zayn. He’s hurt, but more than that, he’s confused. He tries for weeks, spending every spare moment of the holiday trying to get in contact with Zayn. He gets nothing, and Liam heads home for the holiday feeling like he’s wrecked the best thing that happened to him in the past four months. He leaves endless texts and voicemails, dodges questions from his parents about his poor mood, and tries to meet his sisters’ new boyfriends with grace, without feeling bitter.

Liam only gets one call from Zayn over the holiday, and he knows before he even picks up that Zayn is drunk.

“It’s 3AM,” Liam grumbles. Probably not the best opening line.

There’s loud music on Zayn’s end, and Liam listens to the rustling as Zayn moves away from it, “I have your photo,” he says, without fanfare, “That you put in Harry’s basket thing. I have it. I’ve had it for months now.”

“What?”

Zayn’s accent gets even thicker when he drinks, and Liam can tell he’s trying to parse his words carefully, but they still sound a mess, coming out all in a slur, “I carried it around! In my pocket! Like a crazy person!”

Liam feels his heartrate pick up, and he’s not sure what to say, but he might as well triey to calm Zayn down, “It’s okay, hey. Zayn, why didn’t you say anything?”

“Because I didn’t want to!” Zayn yells, “Are you thick? You would have thought I was insane.”

“I wouldn’t have!” Liam whisper-yells, not wanting to wake up his family, “You know that Zayn, you know me.”

There’s a bark of laughter, “Do I?” Zayn says sardonically.

Liam wipes his hand down his face. He’s too tired, and Zayn’s too drunk, “How did this even happen?

“I don’t know!” Zayn yells, “I saw your picture, thought you were fit, and I wanted to meet you!”

“Why were you looking for me? Because you wanted to fuck me?”

“Because I wanted to fall in love with you!”

For a while, there’s nothing but silence, stretching out like a long road before them that Liam can’t even imagine that they have the ability to go down.

“Did you? Fall in love with me?”

Liam’s ears are ringing, and he knows his voice is coming out soft and broken. He feels like he’s sinking, drowning, like he can’t find anything to keep him afloat, and despite the fact that Zayn hangs up immediately, he still holds the phone close to his ear, hoping in vain that he’ll get the answer he wants to hear.

 

The next morning, Liam texts Louis about the fight and goes for a run to clear his mind. It doesn’t work, and by the time he gets home, he’s got a string of messages from Louis.

Louis  
_I knew about the photo thing  
He was embarrassed I think  
But give him a break. Love is scary_

Liam  
_i have his photo too… i stole it off nick  
i shouldve told him  
i just want to see him so bad_

Louis  
_Nick?_

Liam  
_no, zayn!!_

Louis  
_I know, you idiot_

Liam  
_i love him  
like i really love him :(_

Louis  
_Like I said  
I know, you idiot  
I think the only person who doesn’t know is zayn_

Liam knows Louis is right, but he’s not keen about admitting it. Instead, he just sets about packing up his stuff and takes a sleeping pill before he goes to bed – he doesn’t want to dream, because all his dreams are of Zayn.

 

In a surprisingly responsible move, Zayn decides to turn off his phone after drunkenly calling Liam. He tucks it in the bottom drawer of his desk and leaves it there for the entire break.  
His friends from home and his family can tell there’s something off, and he can bury it with alcohol and weed and half-assed excuses with Danny and Ant, but he can’t get anything past his mother. They have large family dinners nearly every night the week leading up to Zayn’s departure, and although he usually loves them, loves to savor every bit of family time he gets, this time all he can do is wince and mumble half-hearted answers when they ask about his life at uni.

“You’re growing up so fast,” his aunt says, sighing, “Soon you’ll be getting married and starting your own family, Insha’Allah.” Zayn just nods, hands rubbing up and down his thighs to distract himself from the image of Liam proposing to him traditional and down on one knee, hosting a huge, colorful wedding with both of their families, getting to see Liam as a father. He can’t imagine doing all those things with anyone else, and he wishes he could hate that.

The morning he’s planning to leave Bradford and move back on campus he gets up much earlier than usual, and his mother is waiting for him in the kitchen with a cup of tea, “I love you, sweetheart,” she says, pulling him in for a hug, “Whatever is bothering you… things have a way of sorting themselves out.” Somehow, he knows she’s right.

The flat looks particularly empty when he arrives back on campus, and he feels like he’s been away for years, not weeks. Zayn unpacks slowly, because he knows as soon as he finishes he’s going to have to deal with everything – he’s going to have to turn his phone on and see how many messages he’s ignored, he’ll have to deal with the fact that everyone was probably worried about him. And, worst of all, he’ll have to deal with what he did with Liam, that he made him cheat on Niall.

It’s not even noon by the time he’s fully unpacked, and he turns his mobile back on fairly unceremoniously, watching the screen light up with a dubious expression.

As expected, he’s got hundreds of texts and dozens of voicemails. He scrolls through the texts a bit, unable to stop himself from reading a few from Liam.

_i know you’re probably ignoring me but i just wanted to say hi  
Ruth just got a new puppy and i thought of u  
the dog looked a bit like u, if u were a dog so basicly the most beautiful dog_

Zayn laughs under his breath and smiles for what feels like the first time in weeks. Before he can think better of it, he sends Louis a text to meet him outside the building and finally starts listening to his voicemails, one after the other.

 

“So you _do_ still have a phone,” Louis says when he shows up, less than an hour later, “And you were just ignoring us. I thought maybe you’d gone back to the Nokia.” (Zayn just shakes his head, because Louis is never going to stop giving him shit about that Nokia.)

They decided to head up the stairwell to the roof of the building to smoke. The library and the academic buildings aren’t open yet, so they can’t get to their usual spot, but now it feels weird to smoke anywhere other than a rooftop. The ascent is silent, but once they’re at the roof, Louis passes Zayn a spliff and they sit down, feet dangling off the edge of the building.

The sun is directly overhead, or so Zayn assumes, but there’s a heavy cloud covering keeping them doused in shade. Zayn looks forward to the spring. He likes the narrative of it, for lack of a better phrase. He likes the notion of the sun breaking through the clouds, of the flowers blooming from under the wet grass and dirt.

Louis lets their buzz set in before he finally speaks, “Do you wanna talk about it?”

Zayn, not for the first time, isn’t sure what to say. He wordlessly scrolls through his phone to get to the one voicemail he had saved, and puts it on speaker before playing it for Louis.

_“Hey Zayn!!”_ It’s Niall’s voice, loud and unmissable, even with music in the background, _“I know that I already talked to you about me and Harry… but I thought I’d let you know that we really made it official! Like, Facebook official! All the kinds of official – Twitter official, Instagram official, Pinterest official – whatever I don’t care. I’m just happy to have a boyfriend that I love and I wanted to thank you for being there for me and understanding why I couldn’t tell you at first. I love you, man. Please call me back, I hope you’re doing okay. And call Liam, he’s a wreck. Anyway, Happy New Year, love to you and your family. See you soon.”_

After the message finishes, Zayn deletes it and places his phone back in his pocket. Louis eyes him carefully.

“I thought Liam and Niall were dating.” Zayn says finally, placing his head in his hands.

When he looks up, Louis is taking a long drag of the joint, and Zayn can tell he wants to laugh. Actually, he kind of commends him for not laughing, “Bro… you’ve been really fucked up about this, haven’t you?”

Zayn groans, digging his fingers into the side of his face in a way he knows must be unattractive, but he’s got so many thoughts and emotions running through his mind that he doesn’t even care, “I thought that – I thought Liam had cheated on him, when we. You know. I was trying to be distant after. I thought it would be easier, like? I wanted Liam to hate me.”  
Louis snorts, “That’s an impossible task.”

“Yeah, well. I think I did a pretty good job of fucking everything up. God, I’m such an idiot,” he’s not high enough to be this talkative, but it all comes pouring out anyway, all the leftover adrenaline from after he had listened to Niall’s voicemail, all the puzzle pieces clicking into place, “He probably does hate me. I know it,” Zayn says quietly.

“Nope,” Louis says immediately, “Definitely not.”

“Why wouldn’t he?!” Zayn chokes on his own words, spits them out like he just wants to be done with them, “I treated him like shit all because I couldn’t get my own shit together. All I had to do was talk to him and I couldn’t even do that. He hates me.”

“No, he doesn’t!” Louis looks like he’s ready to rip his own face off, “Honestly, sometimes you are so fucking dense. It’s like I’m talking to a piece of fucking banana bread or something. What the fuck.”

Zayn opens and closes his mouth a few times before staring down at his own feet. To be able to understand his own feelings and word them as easily as he’s able to word the feelings of the characters in his stories… it’s something he’s thought about a lot, wished for a lot. But real life, especially his life, never seems to play out properly, despite all his carefully-planned attempts and numerous romantic missions. That’s part of the reason why he likes writing so much: everything gets wrapped up. Every loose end gets tied.

Louis sighs, “Look. Those aren’t your jeans.”

“… What?”

“Those jeans,” Louis jerks his chin at Zayn, “They’re Liam’s, I’m pretty sure. They’re huge on you, there’s no way you lost that much weight over break. Not that you really have weight to lose.”

Zayn’s not sure where Louis’ going with this, but when he inspects his jeans more closely he finds that Louis is right. They’re hanging off his hips, and they’re a much lighter wash than Zayn would ever buy, honestly, “I must have grabbed them by accident. After, uh.”

Louis smiles slightly at him, “Hey, look in the pockets. I wanna check something.”

Because he might as well, Zayn indulges him, reaching into the back pockets (nothing), the front right pocket (just his phone and wallet), and finally the front left. He feels a familiar sensation as he finger pricks against something, and when he pulls it out, it’s a photograph. A photograph of Zayn, the one he had put in the photo basket so many months ago. Zayn takes a deep breath for the first time in what feels like forever.

“That’s what I thought,” Louis says quietly.

It’s an immediate, instinctive reaction: Zayn scrambles up, dusting himself off, unable to tear his eyes away from the photograph. He reaches for the door to head back down the stairwell, “D’you mind if I—“

“By all means,” Louis laughs, giving Zayn a smile, “He doesn’t hate you. Not at all.”

Zayn flies down the stairs at a reckless speed, tripping over himself a few times, and nearly breaks down the door to get out of the building. He needs to see Liam, he doesn’t think he could wait even another second, and he never never runs, never really deigns to move at more than a snail’s pace, but he does start running, a jolt of energy running up his spine every time his boots hit the pavement. He veers left, past the library, towards Liam’s building, going so fast he almost misses it – a familiar broad-shouldered, sandy-haired figure leaning against the entrance of the library, eyes fixed studiously on the photo basket, still in place.

(“I can’t take it down now,” Harry had said, “There are still photos in there… I’d feel weird keeping them all when they’re supposed to be found by someone instead.”)

“What are you doing?” Zayn yells out, jogging up the steps, pausing to catch his breath, hunching over his knees.

When he finally looks up, Liam’s looking down on him with a soft expression, and he’s holding something up – a photo of himself. The same one Zayn had carried around in his pocket so ceremoniously for so many months. There’s a smile playing on his lips, and he reaches out a hand to cup Zayn’s cheek gently, and Zayn leans into it naturally.

“When did you find it?” Zayn mumbles.

Liam grins so wide that Zayn can make out the dimple on the apple of his cheek, “This morning. Tried to put on a pair of jeans that were way too tight for me, found this in the pocket.”

“I thought you and Niall were fucking behind my back,” Zayn blurts out, because he’s apparently in the business of ruining his own romantic moments. But he’s tired of not communicating with Liam. He wants him to know everything, everything in his past, everything he thinks, all of his stupid fears and insecurities, all his hopes and dreams, “It was dumb. I don’t know, I thought that I could just be happy for you two but I couldn’t. And then I thought I should just stop hanging out with you because it hurt so badly, but I should have just talked to you.” He notices that his eyes are filling up with tears, and he hates himself for it, but the way Liam is looking at him, like this is his first day on earth and Zayn is the first person he’s ever laid eyes on, it prompts him to ignore how choked his voice is getting, how vulnerable he’s being. Zayn hates, absolutely _hates_ being vulnerable. It reminds him of grade school, a time before he put up the carful walls around his entire self, a time when kids used to poke and prod at his insecurities, at his skin color, at his religion.

Being vulnerable around Liam, though, it feels like everything else feels around Liam: as easy as taking a breath.

Liam grabs his hand, looking at him with his eyebrows furrowed, “Zayn—“

“ _Please,_ ” Zayn’s voice cracks, “I don’t know, please let me explain. I was wrong and I shouldn’t have assumed. And I shouldn’t have hung up on you, when you asked me. When you asked me if I fell in love with you,” he takes a deep breath, “Because I did.”

“Me too,” Liam says, before Zayn can even finish his sentence, “I did too.”

They’ve still got a lot to say, a lot more questions to answer, but all of the mistakes and miscommunications suddenly feel like they’re being swept away with the cool winter winds. And the sun is finally breaking through the clouds.

This time, when they kiss, it’s slow and hesitant. Liam kisses him once, twice, a third time, and then they melt into each other, Liam grasping at Zayn’s waist, and Zayn wrapping his arms around Liam’s neck. The pictures they had both been holding are forgotten, falling slowly to the ground next to them, one on top of the other.

It is a bit poetic, Zayn thinks.

 

**+**

**Epilogue**

“So you picked up Jade’s photo, and she had Liam’s photo, and you switched. So you have Liam’s photo, Nick has your photo, but Liam steals it from him – “

“’Steals’ is a strong word – “

“ – Liam steals it from him, so Liam has your photo. I knew you had Liam’s photo, and Louis knew, but Liam didn’t know. And Louis knew that Liam had your photo, but you didn’t know.”

“And Harry didn’t know anything! And it was _his_ project!”

Niall frowns, “Harry, don’t talk in the third-person, it’s weird. Michael, are you getting all this?”

There’s a high-quality camera trained soundly on Zayn, who’s slouching cross-legged on the couch. Niall’s proclaimed filming assistant, Michael, prods the tripod the camera is set up on with his pointer finger, “Yeah, I think I’m getting it.”

It had turned out that, after everything was said and done, Niall was the one who ended up being artistically inspired by Harry’s project. After getting a substantial grant from the film department, he decided to make his final film thesis a documentary about the photo project, and participants’ efforts to find out whose photo it was they had picked up. Zayn and Liam, obviously, made great subjects.

“Okay, next I want Liam on the couch next to Zayn,” Niall holds his hands up, framing the shot, “I want you guys to really sell it, look like you really love each other.”

Liam sits next to Zayn, “But. We do. Like, love each other.” He says giving Niall and odd look.  
“He’s really into acting like some kind of, like, hard-ass director,” Zayn says, slipping his hand into Liam’s. Liam just shrugs, pressing a kiss to Zayn’s temple.

Dating Liam is a strange thing, Zayn’s discovered. A handful of months and he still can’t quite figure it out, how it manages to feel simultaneously like they’ve been dating for years and like it was just yesterday that they met. He likes staying in and just being together, without saying anything. He likes learning new things about Liam, and sharing things about himself. He likes the automatic comfort they fell into in the bedroom, an immediate sense of trust that made exploring their bodies feel like something natural and exciting. He likes hanging with the boys, the five of them, going on double dates with Niall and Harry (and Louis and Nick – although that was technically an accident). He likes always having someone to whine about his classes with, someone to love and someone to remind him he’s loved.

“Zayn, tell us about when you introduced Liam to your family,” Zayn goes red, but Liam’s got a tiny smirk playing at his lips. Niall continues, “You mentioned you’ve never introduced a boyfriend to your family before.”

“Yeah, no,” Zayn says curtly, “They liked him.”

“What did your sisters say?”

Zayn silently curses Niall, “They said I should break up with him so they could date him instead.” He watches Louis and Harry laugh at him from behind the camera.

“He has a lovely family,” Liam says diplomatically, fighting his grin. Of course Zayn’s family had loved Liam, even his baba – Liam was effortlessly charming and polite. They’re supposed to visit Liam’s parents the following weekend, and sometimes Zayn worries himself to bits about it, but he knows that it’s a good thing. It’s a good thing that he’s nervous, because he’s never cared this much. And that’s how he knows he’s really read fir it, ready to be in it for the long haul with Liam.

And Niall’s documentary has actually been fun, Zayn thinks – it’s been cool, checking up on the stories behind the photos, seeing what kind of different people had taken and left pictures. They find out that Jade and the other girl in the photo Zayn had originally picked up – Danielle – ended up getting back together. Nick and Louis do a particularly awkward interview where Nick says he never realized how fit Louis was till he picked up his photo from the basket. (Louis looks equal parts charmed and disgusted.) They interview one girl who had picked up a picture of her long-lost half-brother and Harry weeps through their entire interview.

Filming is almost wrapped up when Harry announces to the group, “I have something important to show you all.” Michael, ready to pack the camera away, turns it back on and trains it on Harry.

Zayn watches him reach into his front pocket to pull something out, “No he fucking did not…” He whispers, gripping Liam’s wrist.

“What? What did he do?”

When they look back, Harry’s holding up a photo of Niall that Zayn recognizes – a grey suit, a pink tie, and a spectacular quiff, “I picked this up from my own photo basket. I realized halfway through that I hadn’t picked one up, so. This was it.” He admits to Niall, who looks like he just hit the jackpot.

“That’s romantic as _shit!_ ” He says, lifting Harry up in a large sweeping motion, kissing him loudly, “I love you so much.”

The crowd around them coos, and when Niall pulls back he looks at Harry a bit sheepishly, “I wish I could say I picked up your picture too.”

“You might’ve!” Louis says, “The photos Harry put in were weird, they weren’t even of himself.”

“Let me see which one you did pick up!” Harry says, and Niall bolts to his room to pick up the photo of the drunken man – the photo that had started it all, Zayn muses.

“It’s literally just a drunk dude with a dick drawn on his stomach,” Niall says when he comes back into the room, “It’s actually been driving me mad, ‘cause I think I know him from somewhere.”

Harry plucks the photo from Niall, observing it carefully. When he finally looks up, he’s got a wide grin on his face, dimples slicing down his cheeks, “This is my picture. Well, I put it in there. It’s Professor Cowell. I snuck in a faculty party my first year and this was the only non-blurry photo that I took.”

“You’re shitting me,” Louis says.

“No, actually it inspired me to get into photography.”

Niall’s laughing so hard his face is beet red, and he and Harry go to kiss but end up essentially just laughing into each other’s mouths. Zayn thinks they’re probably perfect for each other.

He turns back to Liam and winds his arms around his torso, leaning into Liam’s collarbone, “I can’t believe they had each other’s photos the whole time,” he says, “Super romantic.”

“Reminds me of another couple I know,” Liam says through a smile, rubbing a warm hand up and down Zayn’s back, “Although, to be fair, we had to trade and steal and all that to find each other.”

“I think I liked that better,” Zayn says, grinning. He cranes his neck up to kiss the birthmark on Liam’s neck, and he thinks back to a time when he could only imagine doing that, so forlornly in love with some specter of a boy in a photo. The real thing is much different, and so, so much better.

“I’m glad Harry set that whole thing up,” Liam says, “And that Niall told you about it.”

“I’m glad that Louis helped me come to my senses,” Zayn looks over to where Harry and Niall are still wrapped up in each other, looking ridiculous and fond, Louis looking on with a laugh, “We have great friends.”

Liam presses a kiss to the top of Zayn’s head, “And now I have a great boyfriend.”

Well, he’s not wrong.

**Author's Note:**

> if you'd like, you can hmu on [twitter](http://twitter.com/isthiswinnie) and/or [tumblr](http://politicaal.tumblr.com)


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